


Incantation-Fetter's Arms

by someillplanetreigns



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Jane Foster, Bisexual Characters, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Multi, Thor Is a Good Bro, a whole new take on Sigyn, chained together, interpreting mythology, not a reincarnation fic, not exactly slow burn but also slightly, rewriting both mythology and comic canon, you know what i take it back it is slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someillplanetreigns/pseuds/someillplanetreigns
Summary: Loki has never had a wife or children, or done anything untoward with a horse, thank you very much. That’s just the sort of nonsense mortals would come up with – never could keep their minds out of the gutter. Any Asgardian would agree that the humans’ mythology about them is all made-up stories about their favourite characters – fanfiction, if you will. But they would do well to consider that though a myth may be fiction, it may also, though rarely, be a prediction. Enter Sigyn.





	1. Reflected on Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about in part because I was trying to work out how to square the fact that in the MCU, Norse mythology is obviously still a thing, but it doesn’t match up to the realities of Asgardian life. I was especially interested in this in terms of Sigyn: fics generally have to take a more AU route and introduce Sigyn into Loki’s life later, set up some idea of the two having history, or go down the reincarnation route. Those are all fine options, but this came to me as something quite different from all of these, and somehow it ended up becoming an actual story...  
> To make things clearer, in the universe of this fic, if a myth has been verified within the MCU then it’s true (e.g. Thor has a hammer called Mjolnir); if it’s been directly disputed then follow the explanation in the MCU (e.g. Odin lost his eye in battle, not as a sacrifice to knowledge); the things that are unmentioned in the canon will hopefully become clearer in the fic!  
> This is set about six months after Thor: The Dark World. The Winter Soldier is the last thing that will be canon-compliant from the MCU.  
> Updates should happen once a week (fingers crossed)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll put warnings as necessary on each chapter (please let me know if you think I should have warned for something and I haven't!) If you aren't someone who needs warnings and is more worried about spoilers, by all means just skip them :) The fic as a whole is going to repeatedly touch on grief (because it's me haha), so overarchingly I'll warn for that. In this chapter though, no warnings as far as I'm aware :) hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

> While they adore me on the throne of hell,
> 
> With diadem and sceptre high advanced
> 
> The lower still I fall, only supreme
> 
> In misery; such joy ambition finds.
> 
> _Paradise Lost,_ John Milton

 

He sauntered past what he took to be a warden frantically trying to encourage a rowdy family to depart through the large glass doors. Neither she, nor the family, nor the other warden preparing to lock up saw him as he passed.

Though he would admit it to no one (and who was there to talk to in his own guise these days, even if honesty were to catch his interest?), Loki had been intrigued by the concept of museums since his last ill-fated visit to Midgard. Asgard’s treasures were either freely wielded, like that gaudy hammer of Thor’s, or held in the armoury, being far too dangerous for perusal by the general public. True, the Royal Library could be accessed by anyone who sought Frigga’s – and now, he supposed with a dull pain in his chest, _his_ – permission, but that was usually for research, and few took up the offer. It was quite the display of power to lay out one’s hoard for the people to behold. Sometimes you had to begrudgingly admire the Midgardians.

But that was not the only reason he was here.

He hadn’t been impersonating Odin long before the gnawing discontent had started. He was not really king; Odin was. He was not really ruling, merely pretending to be Odin. He longed to rule as himself, but knew, with a bitterness that burnt, that it would not work. It would be nothing like Thor’s coronation. Even as king he would still be in Thor’s shadow, the unwanted one. He had decided it was better to be venerated as another than despised as himself, but the dissatisfaction would not leave him. And somehow the idea had come to him to slip away from Asgard, away from watchful eyes he must not make suspicious and from Odin’s grizzled visage in the mirror, and to look upon the face of his mythological counterpart.

His single effort to discover what the Midgardians believed of him had seen him furiously setting a book (hard to procure, too – Midgardian literature was a rare thing on Asgard) on fire upon finding shameless libel concerning a horse, so he could hardly say he was hoping to find some deep truth in this strange echo of himself – though the mortals, he had painfully noted, had seemed to know something of his Jötunn nature when he himself had not. But as a way to escape the charade for a time, Midgard and its museums and mythologies would suffice.

He squared his shoulders as he reached the gallery he had come for. The sign read, ‘Norse Mythology: Gods and Monsters’ _._ He tried, unsuccessfully, to quell his thoughts.

Loki had barely started moving again before he came to an abrupt halt. He had believed the museum to be empty; he’d had no desire to navigate slack-jawed mortals. It _should_ have been empty; they’d been locking up as he’d arrived. So why was there someone standing, back to him, looking at a painting? She wasn’t even wearing the uniform of the wardens. He debated leaving, but it had been an effort to slip away, and it wasn’t as though she could see him. But of course, she _would_ be standing in front of the canvas labelled with his name. Damned mortals were always underfoot. He begrudgingly came to stand beside her to study the canvas he featured on.

And that was when she turned. As soon as he was alongside her, in the corner of her eye, she turned. But he should not have been in the corner of her eye, _could not have been_. He could not be seen, and yet she looked at him.

And then she spoke, this mortal who’d performed the impossible: “Umm... Hi?” 

*

She’d been surprised to find someone else wandering around the gallery, of course, but _his_ confusion she couldn’t make sense of. His reaction, the way those icy eyes widened and fixed on her, would have made sense in the doorway, when he must have first seen her, but why _now_? It was almost as if he were shocked she acknowledged him. And _come on_ , she thought, surely a man who looks like that is used to being acknowledged?

She aimed for a friendly smile to smooth this odd situation over. “I thought the museum was empty–”

“As did I.” He was still looking at her curiously, lips slightly pursed.

“Huw, the director, he, ah, he let me in before the rush tomorrow when the exhibition opens; he knew I’d be interested to see this,” she gestured to the painting before them.

She expected him to provide his own explanation, but he did not; he’d turned away from her and was now focussed on the label.

“ _Loki and Sigyn,_ Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg, 1810, oil on canvas,” it read. “This painting depicts the punishment of Loki, the trickster god. He has been bound to three stones with chains made from the entrails of his and his wife Sigyn’s son, Narfi, torn apart by their other son, Vali, whom the gods turned into a wolf. A serpent has been placed above him to drip venom onto him. Sigyn holds a bowl to collect the venom and stop it falling on her husband. When the bowl is full she must empty it, and in that time the venom falls on Loki and he writhes in agony; it was believed his writhing caused earthquakes.” 

She looked back to the canvas. If the unexpected interaction was over, she may as well get back to what she came here for. Avoiding staring at him was probably a good move, too. A part of her was wishing she’d worn something a bit prettier.

She’d seen _Loki and Sigyn_ before, of course, but only ever online, and a flat digital image could never do justice to it in real life. Finally seeing it in the flesh, she marvelled at it. Loki’s body she’d always felt was wrong, too bulky, too much like a titan and just not how she imagined him, but his face, the depth of emotion there... Yet it was Sigyn that held the focus, that captivated, and that was why she’d always preferred this portrayal of the story to any other she’d seen.

“Why?” He jolted her from her reverie. She couldn’t tell if he was thinking out loud or demanding an answer from somewhere.

“Why what?”

He cast those intense eyes to her again. Hadn’t been addressing her then, good to know. He answered nevertheless: “Why does she protect him?”

She suspected there were more questions lurking behind that ‘why’.

“Because she loves him.”

She wondered if he’d laugh. He did not, but his expression was dark as he held her in his gaze. Her nervous talking kicked in.

“Sigyn gets a terrible rap in mythology. Scholars write about her like she’s some kind of doormat, waiting around for Loki like a good, meek little wife whilst he’s off sleeping with anyone and everyone and having kids with Angrboða. But she’s incredible. Her name relates to victory, and she’s referred to as ‘incantation-fetter’, a fascinating suggestion of a magical connection. But most relevant to this,” she gestured again at the painting, “is that scholars never give Sigyn enough credit for what she’s doing here. The gods have ordered Loki’s punishment, but to the best of her ability _she intervenes_. This isn’t the action of a downtrodden woman whose governing principle is obedience; this is an act of defiance committed by a woman in love. It’s why this painting’s so wonderful. Just look at Sigyn’s face. Eckersberg captures her courage, the pain of this experience, her fear for her husband, her desperate need to protect him, her fury at what’s been done to those she loves...”

She ran to a stop. He was still looking at her with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe. He said nothing for a long time, his mouth a firm line.

“Why is this of such interest to you?” he asked at length.

Indicating the painted Sigyn she said, “She’s my namesake.”

Flushing without knowing exactly knowing why, she held out her hand to him and smiled. “Sigyn.” She nodded at the painting. “A pretty poor likeness, I know, but there you go.”

His jaw clenched and there was some strange look in his eyes, but he did take her hand. He did not shake it, really, simply held it in his own for three heartbeats. His hand was large with strong, elegant fingers. Her pulse juddered.

“My mum was sort of obsessed with Sigyn, hence the name choice,” she said as he released her, her voice a little breathless. “She wrote this book – it’s in the giftshop here, actually – this feminist text about magic, witches, sorceresses... She poured over that ‘incantation-fetter’ thing...” She trailed off, realising she wasn’t being very coherent, and he probably wasn’t even interested.

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. If she’d thought his gaze had been intense before... The trope of reading faces came to her mind; he really did look as though he were trying to decipher a complex text.

“You haven’t told me your name,” she blurted out.

His scrutiny of her became almost unbearable, but she met his eyes. The idea suddenly hit her that she was meant to know who he was and didn’t, and that was why he was acting so weirdly. Was he someone famous? He did look like he could be famous: breath-stealingly good-looking, and that suit couldn’t have been cheap. His hairstyle was hardly standard, either. And she’d been so out of everything since...

Suddenly his lips quirked into a smile. The brooding intensity faded to the background, and suddenly he looked... well, _mischievous_.

“Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess my name.”

She blinked. The ‘famous’ theory was gaining traction. And was he...? No, he was definitely not flirting, don’t be stupid Sigyn.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she joked weakly.

He raised his eyebrows at her. The message was clear: _You can do better than that._

“Okay, okay... Well, if you don’t want to tell me your name, it must be because it’s really embarrassing,” _or you’re someone I’d immediately recognise if I hadn’t suddenly become a recluse, but we won’t think about that_ , “and you already know my frankly ridiculous name, so... Maximilian?”

He made a face at her and she laughed.

“Oh no, worse than that, eh?” She cast around again for the most embarrassing name she could think of. “Clarence?”

He snorted. “No. And you’re all out of guesses.”

“You never said how many guesses I got!”

He gave her a withering look. “It is always three guesses. Everyone knows that.”

“Well what am I supposed to call you if I’ve run out of guesses for your name?”

He tapped one of those perfect fingers to his jaw, and glanced at the painting again. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Loki.”

Was that a pick-up line? But why would he...

“Sigyn!”

She turned in the direction of Huw’s voice.

He appeared in the doorway, out of breath from the stairs. His familiar smile was plastered across his face, with no hint of surprise; he must have known ‘Loki’ would be here.

Or so she thought until she glanced at where he had been standing and saw no one.

She looked around wildly, blinking, no longer trusting her eyes. Huw faltered as he came towards her.

“Sigyn?” This time when he said her name it was tinged with concern.

“There was... there was a man here...”

His voice sounded fully worried now. “There’s no one here, Sigyn... The staff all left ten minutes ago, apart from the night security watching the cameras.”

She was unnerved, concerned she’d finally snapped under the stress, and worse, she could see Huw was thinking exactly the same thing.

“Are you alright?”

She felt the weight behind the question, knew how much he was trying to encompass with it, and shied away from it. Huw was lovely, had known her since she was a child, but she didn’t want to have this conversation with him.

She was ready to insist there _was_ someone there, to bolster herself as much as to convince him, but something stopped her. Either she was going mad, and arguing would only make her look madder, or... or a man with long hair and an expensive suit had just listened to her prattle about mythology and then vanished into thin air. And that needed thinking about before it could be spoken of.

She nodded a little stiffly and said, “As alright as I can be. Thank you for letting me see this. It means a lot.”

He smiled at her awkwardly and pulled her into a one-armed hug as he led her down the stairs. 

*

Loki ducked out from his hiding place when they’d gone. Not being able to rely on his invisibility was a great inconvenience. He could hide from Heimdall but not from some voluble mortal? What in the Nine was happening? He had a suspicion, of course, and it made his icy blood boil. At least she hadn’t been prepared for him to teleport. He stood contemplating for a time – his darkening mood not appeased even by the sight of a painting of Thor looking almost monstrous himself, striking down some very human-looking giants with a frankly pathetic little Mjölnir as goats pulled him along in a wagon – then turned and strode to the pathway that would take him back to Asgard.  


	2. Know Thyself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! I'm really glad you're enjoying it :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> going into shock, vomiting

 

> Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
> 
> /
> 
> Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whined.
> 
> /
> 
> Harpier cries, ‘’Tis time, ’tis time.’
> 
> _Macbeth_ , William Shakespeare

 

Huw had dragged out the conversation. He’d clearly psyched himself up for it and would not be deterred by Sigyn’s obvious discomfort. She’d shuddered through it, averted her gaze, her throat closing up. She had tried to answer his questions, even when they were probing and clumsy and she didn’t really _have_ answers; she knew he meant well. And after everything that happened and then her insisting that someone had been there who just couldn’t have been, well... She got it, she did, but the whole thing had been giving her a headache, and she’d been glad to get away and start the drive home.

Except the pain didn’t ease; far from it. By the time the sky had broken into its myriad evening colours, her head felt ready to split open. It pounded in sync with her elevated heartrate. She could feel her pulse slamming in her chest, in her neck, in her legs, in her temple, in her wrists.

She had to stop driving.

She’d taken a longer route than usual, avoiding A-roads as much as possible in favour of a more scenic and more deserted journey. She was grateful for her decision now; she was able to pull into a layby surrounded by nothing but empty fields that stretched off in all directions.

Her hands shook as she switched off the engine. She left the headlights on though it was not yet fully dark and she measured her breathing, drawing in deep, calming breaths and pushing the air out slowly. Her heart rate would not lower – although, the thought occurred through the pain, the issue was not really the speed of her pulse but rather its force. She didn’t think she could ever remember her heart pumping so _hard_ , or being able to feel her pulse so acutely in her veins. The pain within her head was worsening. She needed air.

She stumbled from the car, collapsing against it as she shut and locked the door. She took a shaky step forward, then another. She felt she needed to move, to try and calm her manic body. In the layby she’d parked in was a gate leading into the field by the roadside. She staggered towards it, leaning heavily on it as she unlatched it and swung it open. Then one step, then another.

Sigyn was in too much pain to do much more than register that the sky looked wrong. However poetically you write about a May evening, the sunset is still drawn from a restricted palette; but now the sky seemed to be turning a luminous, swirling spectrum, as though the Northern Lights had somehow arrived in Buckinghamshire of all places, and before the sky was even dark. Her eyes were rapidly going bleary as the pain in her head became exquisite, burning everything else out of existence, but she did see, suddenly, that the light had a source: something was falling from the sky.

Sigyn had never seen a meteor fall, only CGI imitations. She’d always assumed they would streak across the sky briefly and be gone, existing as nothing but a brief, bright trail. But this one blazed in the sky, its light suffusing everything. And it wasn’t falling in the distance – it was charging nearer and nearer, coming straight towards her.

She staggered back, one faltering step, too slow, too addled by the splitting pain in her head, the surging in her veins, the thunderous pounding of her heart. She tried to turn from it to run but failed, her body no longer obeying, and she registered, just before that light consumed everything, that it was not one object coming towards her but two.

She did not feel the impact, but did feel herself on the ground, did feel her wrists pinned, one either side of her head, as _something_ closed around them, pressing against the slamming pulse-points there.

And then the pain in her head crested, and was replaced by images, thoughts...

She saw, as though a film were playing in her mind, light expanding across darkness, concentrating and condensing into six points, each a different colour. The name came to her mind automatically, without her knowing how she knew it: _Infinity Stones._ Each one flashed before her eyes as a sudden snapshot, there then gone, yet she saw them and knew them. These things were being shown to her, and, somehow, they resonated within her. Then the vision shifted.

Suddenly she was six years old again, sitting on her mother’s lap, tears drying on her cheeks from her sudden outburst that with the new baby on the way, who even came with a _dad_ , unlike her, her mum didn’t care about her any more. She’d been comforted, reassured, had her hair stroked, and now her mother was telling her a story.

“I always knew I wanted to call you Sigyn. Even before you were born, I knew. It was the only name that would do. You’re named after a goddess–”

“Like the Romans?”

“Well, sort of, sort of. Sigyn was a Norse goddess – that means she was a goddess for the Vikings – you know who they are?”

“They were in _Asterix_. They had boats and hats with horns.”

“The boats yes, the hats with horns no, although lots of grown-ups think they did.”

“They should check their facts.” It was a parroted phrase, one Sigyn had picked up and used frequently as a child.

“Ha, yes, they should. So, Sigyn was a goddess for the Vikings. She was married to Loki, who’s much more famous – he caused a lot of trouble – but we’ll talk about him another time. Right now, I want to tell you about Sigyn. She had another name: incantation-fetter.”

“What?”

“Incantation-fetter. An incantation is a spell, like magic, and a fetter is like a shackle.”

The present-day Sigyn re-experiencing this, lying in a field totally immobile, saw, as her childhood eyes did, a brief shot of Disney’s _Robin Hood_ ; that was where her six-year-old mind knew shackles from.

“So could she do magic? Like a witch? Or a fairy?”

“Maybe. This is what Mummy’s working on for her book.”

“Oooh!”

“The Vikings believed magic was mostly done by women. But there’s even more to it with Sigyn. If they called her a shackle for magic, that suggests she’s containing it, keeping it under control, right?”

Sigyn knew her young face was twisted in confusion.

“Imagine there’s something very powerful that could do a lot of damage. People would want to use it and cause harm with it. So you’d want to keep it safe. One way of keeping it safe would be to give it to someone who could be trusted to look after it without using it.”

The world momentarily went black as the child Sigyn blinked slowly. Then she said, very seriously, “Like how you take away Granny’s cigarettes so she can’t smoke them?”

Her mother laughed. “Something like that. This is just my theory – that means it’s what I think, but I don’t know it for certain yet – but I think Sigyn’s magic may have involved keeping something very dangerous contained.”

There was a shift to a chapter from her mother’s book – she remembered the content in summary, and the film in her head did not replay it all, merely flashed it before her eyes to jog her memory of it. Loki was a symbol of chaos, and Sigyn was bound to him; he was the burden of her arms. Her mother speculated what it could mean, to be the bearer of chaos, to be bound to it, to come to be its protector, whilst at once never freely unleashing it on the world oneself.

And then all at once she could see the sky, in the right colours, straight over her head where she lay on her back in the field. She could not move yet. Her own voice rang out in her head, speaking with what could only be described, to Sigyn’s shock and confusion, as _amusement_ at her words, aware of the touch of the histrionic and revelling in it.

“Know thyself, incantation-fetter. You’ve kept them waiting, and they can wait no longer.”

 

Sigyn rolled onto her stomach. She tried to rise but her limbs were trembling so much they could barely support her, leaving her in a humiliating crouch. She wished she could claim this was the first time she’d felt like this, but it was a horrible harkening back to that night in the family room in the hospital, to that sickening, interminable wait for the end which had left her bowed over the toilet bowl, body trembling, retching but unable to bring anything up.

Her head hung down, which put her wrists directly in her eyeline. Each one had a slender silver bracelet snugly fixed around it which had not been there before.

Slowly, carefully, she leant back to take all of her weight on her knees and shins and raised her arms to inspect them. The bracelets were each a finger-width wide, fitting snugly on her wrists, occupying the space between the heel of her hand and the slightly protruding wrist bone. There was no obvious way for them to have attached – no clasps, no catches, not even any give in the metal. They matched her body temperature. She tentatively ran a finger over the one on her left wrist. She noted there were runes carved delicately into it. She could not read them, but with that increasingly familiar instinctive awareness, she knew what they said: _incantation-fetter._

Her mind ran back over what she’d just seen. She was learning it, absorbing it. It was a self-truth in a wholly different way to how she’d ever heard the term applied.

Her body had calmed now. There was no rising panic. _I’m in shock,_ she told herself. But she knew she wasn’t; she’d been in shock before, been in shock that night, after it happened, and this was different. That had been like being in the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by hell and unable to escape, fixed in a moment of stillness within the horror. This was... _right_. Bizarre, yes. Physically draining, yes. But also very _right._

It was as though, without knowing it, she had always missed the weight of the bands around her wrists. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at https://someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com  
> I may start blogging more about this fic (it is on my mind a lot!) if anyone's interested :) Thanks for reading, thanks again for all the lovely comments and hope you like where it's going! I'll see you next week <3


	3. The Regent Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some visitors come to speak with the King.

> Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face
> 
> Thrice changed with pale, ire, envy and despair,
> 
> Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed
> 
> Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld.
> 
> _Paradise Lost,_ John Milton

 

The same question echoed over and over through Loki’s mind as he stormed to the Allfather’s chambers, the air practically quaking with the force of his ire.

_How dare he?_

Yet it was so obvious that he would dare that Loki became almost angry at himself for being surprised, a vicious ouroboric cycle. There was nothing Odin would not dare; he of all people should know that.

He could just picture Odin surveying his dominion with that one milky eye, pondering what could be done about his troublesome foundling monster and being unable to think of anything except what had been proven to work for Thor: throw a pretty mortal in his way to bat her lashes at him until he went weak at the knees. He didn’t even merit an original plan, it seemed. How very like the Allfather. And how very like him to be so feeble as to need Midgardian girls to fix his problems for him. But really: _Sigyn_? Was that Odin’s attempt at humour, to have her use the name of his fictional wife from the Midgardians’ myths?

She had seemed utterly guileless, and even wrongfooted by his show of charm. What a performance. She could not be innocent of Odin’s scheme – that would mean her name really was Sigyn, and that would mean the plan had been in place for decades, and did that really seem likely? There could be other options, of course... Could she really not have known who he was? His attacks in Stuttgart and New York had been shown on the mortals’ Internet and Television. Why bother with the façade of not knowing? The warp and weft of Loki’s thoughts spread rapidly, trying to seek out the thread of Odin’s plan, imagining what he would do if this were his scheme.

_No wonder I act your part so well, Odin. One liar for another._ It was a bitter thought which left a burning, acidic tang in his mouth.

There was a knock at the door, a timorous shake in the messenger’s hand. A trembling voice called out: “Y-your Majesty?”

“Speak!” Loki barked in Odin’s voice, leaving the door closed to allow himself a moment to shift back to Odin’s form in a soft glow of green.

“Your Majesty, a- an audience with you is urgently requested.”

Loki threw the door open to intimidate the insolent messenger with the full force of the Allfather’s presence.

“I made clear I would not be entertaining anyone until the morrow, _boy_.”

The messenger looked as though he might faint, but managed to squeak out, “Y-yes, Your Majesty, o-of course, bu-but, if it please Your Majesty, u-under the circumstances Heimdall thought it best to a-alert you regardless...”

“Alert me of what?”

Odin’s one eye was narrowed into a slit.

“A delegation from the Norns has appeared at the Bifrost observatory.”

“ _What?_ ”

“A- a delegation–”

“I heard you! Have them taken to the throne room; I will meet with them there.”

The messenger scuttled off, stumbling in his haste to obey the Allfather’s command. Loki, as Odin, marched down the corridor after him and made his way to the throne room.

The novelty of the throne had worn off quickly. In his first few days as King there had been a sense of finally occupying his rightful place – albeit tinged, though he tried to ignore the fact, with other emotions he had to lock away and never look at, much like his true face. Now, though, he felt nothing about assuming the seat, his thoughts occupied with the Norns.

Loki, the devourer of the Royal Library’s collection, probably knew more about the Norns than most in the Golden Realm, but even his knowledge was sparse. They had never been conquered by Asgard; legend had it that Buri, Odin’s grandfather, had met with the Norns’ Voice, their elected leader, had conversed with her in private, and had come to the agreement that Nornheim would exist within the Nine Realms ruled by him so long as he ensured no other realms troubled them. They had had a passive presence on Midgard for some years around the time of the Jötun War; no one really knew why, and the best guess anyone could hazard was that the mortals amused the Norns. Aside from that, the Norns were very insular. The only real, tangible connection to the Norns on Asgard was Heimdall. The Gatekeeper was always a child of the Norns, had been since the days of Buri. It was the strange powers of the Norns that imbued him with his wondrous sight.

Loki had not known Heimdall to speak of his home before Asgard, nor of the Norns, aside from a single mention, once, with a twist of his mouth that did not change the expression of his golden eyes, of having nine mothers. But then, Heimdall, with his otherworldliness, was rarely consulted about anything beyond the immediate remits of his duty. It had surprised Loki to discover such a complex character to Heimdall, soft and varied emotions within the stony guardian: anxiety, curiosity, even sympathy (though never for _him_ , only for Thor, _of course_ ), and a strong moral obligation beyond his fealty to the King. It was likely, from that little insight, that the Asgardian chroniclers could not be trusted in their portrait of the Norns as a distant, ethereal and emotionless Other.

Though anxiety tensed in his chest, never able to fully settle, Loki was curious to meet them.

When the doors were swung open by the footmen, Odin did not react to their presence beyond a respectful inclination of the head. Whatever Loki had expected, the Norns had defied it, but he kept Odin’s face schooled. There were three Norns, presumably representatives of their elected council. They were all women, and they were all very large and dressed in bright primary colours that stood out strongly against their dark skin. Their heads were hairless, smooth and gleaming in the golden light of Asgard’s throne room. And they seemed to radiate warmth. Normally, state visitors were solemn, dreary individuals, but these women smiled brilliantly as they walked down the central aisle towards the throne. Arriving, they stood in line, and it was the middle woman, wearing a bright yellow dress, who spoke.

“We are here to address the Allfather.”

“You wish for me to send out the guards? Forgive me, but that is hardly–”

“Oh no,” she continued mildly, still smiling without any hint of threat, “we do not object to their presence. But it is necessary that the Allfather be here. What we have to impart to him he will find of great importance.”

“I am the Allfather. Speak.”

The Norn sighed and gave him a look which made his chest clench; it was so like the look his mo– Frigga used to give him as a child when he tricked Thor into doing something then professed his innocence.

“No, you are not.”

The Norn on the left, older, wearing a bright blue dress, spoke up, turning to the guards posted on the door: “He is safe in the catacombs. Follow the corridor as you enter almost to the end, then take the penultimate passage on your left. Then the third on your right, first on your left, down the flight of stairs and finally the right turning at the end of that corridor. He sleeps, but it is safe for him to awaken.”

“We have brought him some crystals to assist the transition,” the third Norn, a youth wearing red, added.

The guards glanced at each other and looked to Loki on the throne nervously.

“You are mistaken,” he rumbled in Odin’s voice, keeping impressively calm as he rapidly calculated his moves.  

“We are never mistaken,” the first Norn said mildly.

“Sire...” one of the guards started, uncertainly adjusting his grip on his spear.

“Maintain your post.”

“You are delaying the inevitable,” the Norn in red told him.

“So you left Nornheim to espouse treason against the ruler of the Nine Realms, did you?”

“No.” The Norn in blue, this time, unruffled and still so gentle in the face of his threatening tone. “Nor to espouse treason against you, Loki.”

His mouth was dry, but still Odin’s face was stony. The guards shifted but with no definite course. He rose from the throne and came down the steps slowly, fixing his gaze on the Norns. He reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Loki died. He was killed on Svartalfheim. He died nobly, avenging his mother’s murder.” He had said his mother... Should he have said that? Would Odin have said that? Too late to correct it now.

They looked at him with what could only be described as pity, and he found that he hated them for it.

The first Norn, the one stood in the middle, said, quite clearly, but with discernible tenderness, “Yes. But that is not where it ended.”

He stepped away from her, turned his back on them. He was still, so still, the snake coiled to pounce. He came to the high window of the throne room, looked upon Asgard stretched out below them. He turned back, still calm, still inscrutable.

The Norn who had just spoken stepped after him, and he held himself, made sure he did not stiffen or flinch.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

She seized hold of Gungnir with a speed which astounded Loki and wrenched it free of his grip. There was terrifying force in those large, soft-looking arms.

As she tugged the staff from him, it was as though she tugged his illusion with it, and there he stood, before there was even time to draw breath, as Loki.

The guards were slack-jawed. In a moment, they would gather their wits and be upon him. He only had a moment.

He smiled at them, held them in his gaze, and spread his hands in a gesture of amicable acknowledgement that he was bested, stepping back to show he meant no harm. He would not, he sourly knew, be able to pry Gungnir from the Norn’s hands, and if all that was said of them was true, she would anticipate the move anyway and prevent it. Holding his hands out palms up, his right heel found the base of the low wall beneath the open window, and, with characteristic grace, Loki flipped himself out of it before the guards could react. The last thing he saw was the Norns’ faces, but their shared expression he could not name.    

       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the chapters get longer after this! Thanks for reading this far - I'd love to know what you think of it! My tumblr is someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com if you want to find me there :)


	4. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some exposition, some more confusion, and chats over a takeaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that I have never been to the Tower of London, so this is in no way meant to be reflective of an actual tour there!
> 
> Proper warnings: blood, very minor injury

> She cared not a rap for all the big planets,
> 
> For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran,
> 
> And all the big planets cared nothing for her,
> 
> That small impertinent charlatan;
> 
> But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight,
> 
> And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.
> 
> ‘Full Moon’, Vita Sackville-West

 

Afterwards, as the tour group moved away, they could be heard loudly proclaiming that no, they had not been startled; it was exactly the sort of cheap trick you anticipated on a tour. One man drawled to the woman beside him that he had definitely seen a beefeater fiddle with something; they must have trained them to do that. None of them looked back to see the guide’s anxious face. No one noted that his reaction had been phenomenally realistic, or that his handling of the group had been very flustered as he ushered them on their way.

The tour had been progressing as normal: “Now, you see these large black birds hopping about? Those are ravens. The Tower of London is their home. They have a long history here. Have any of you seen the Royal Observatory? It got featured on a lot of news reports around the world at the end of last year.”

A few raised hands here.

“Well, it was because of the ravens that that was built. Back in the reign of King Charles II, the one whose father got beheaded, way back in the seventeenth century, astronomers used to go up the Tower of London to study the skies. But there was a bit of a problem with that plan: the ravens kept pooing on their telescopes!”

The hoped-for tittering in response was weak, even from the kids.

“King Charles couldn’t get rid of the ravens, so he had the Royal Observatory designed by Christopher Wren, which meant the astronomers could look for planets and stars in peace.”

He waited for someone to ask why King Charles couldn’t get rid of the ravens, but no one did.

“You may be wondering why King Charles couldn’t get rid of the ravens. The answer is a deep-rooted superstition: it is said that if the ravens ever leave the Tower, it, the Crown and Britain will all _fall_!”

And then one of the birds had let out a croak, and suddenly it and one of its fellows had launched up into the air and left the tourists, guide and dependent Tower far behind.

His mouth, open to reassure them that every Tower raven has one wing clipped, hung slackly open.  

The guide tried to tell himself, as the loud voices of the group faded into the distance, that he knew it was superstitious nonsense, but in truth he only began to calm down when the Raven Master pointed out the six actual Tower ravens to him, still safely present, and reminded him that _all_ the ravens would need to leave, and that sometimes one or other of the ‘proper’ ravens wandered off anyway, and it was fine. After that, he was able to relax enough to conduct the next tour, this time free from incident – perhaps unsurprisingly, as the two ravens in flight had by now made good progress to their destination.  

*

 Sigyn saw her hand on the pillow beside her as she blearily opened her eyes that morning and knew she’d not dreamt it. The band was round her wrist.

She found herself dreamily following her usual routine as she tried to work out what to do. Staring blankly at her reflection as she brushed her teeth, she reconsidered contacting her housemates, who were currently on holiday, but she just couldn’t imagine what she’d say to them, or what they’d say to her. Her mum, then, she thought as she got ready to shower. But no, she didn’t want to put anything on her mother’s plate until she knew more about this. Who on earth _did_ you talk to about... whatever had happened?

She tried to get absorbed in the motions of showering, to relax under the hot water in spite of everything. She was doing a decent job of it, all things considered, right up until she raised her hand to pick up the shampoo from the shelf.

_No... surely... But how..._

The bands around her wrists had become translucent. Still visible, but now almost like a hologram. She touched the one on her left wrist tentatively. Her finger passed straight through to the skin.

_Well of course,_ a voice in her head said, disconcertingly unruffled, _you need to be able to clean your skin, don’t you?_

She tried to ease back into her routine, telling herself she needed time to work out what to do and panicking wouldn’t help, but she couldn’t quite calm the jumble of thoughts in her head or stop repeatedly touching her wrists through the intangible bands.

Maybe her distraction was why, as she slid the razor up her leg, it nicked the skin. A single drop of blood oozed out. She would have groaned in frustration, but the sound died in her throat. From the wound a light shone, brief and brilliant, and then it was gone, as though it were never there. As was the nick on her skin.

Out of the shower, the television on in the background so she didn’t have to sit in silence, Sigyn was giving serious weight to the possibility she might be going mad. The bands around her wrists were solid again.

The news mentioned an unexpected astrological phenomenon that had happened last night, currently unexplained and being looked into by scientists. That was all that was said about it. They moved on to the next segment, a review of the progress of reconstruction in London following the events in November. They showed amateur footage of floating cars, a spaceship, aliens with guns, and a huge, four-legged animal with leathery skin and enormous teeth.

She remembered the event, of course, though she hadn’t been in London, let alone Greenwich at the time, so she’d only seen it on the news. A few times people had mentioned _Thor_ to her, presumably because they thought the Norse name would interest her, but she could never look into him specifically – that would bring up the incident in New York, and that had happened whilst they were in the hospital, still not really aware how serious it was, and the two events had become connected in her mind such that she could never bear to read about it. But now it seemed important: things like that made what was happening to her now no longer seemed quite so bizarre.

She steeled herself, pulled up Google on her laptop and started a diligent search. As though the morning hadn’t included enough surprises, only a minute into her search she saw _him._ On footage from a mobile phone, recorded at Stuttgart, was the man from the museum, the one who’d vanished... _Loki._

She felt overwhelmed and slightly sick as she watched the video and read the accompanying article. He’d killed so many people, and she’d stood less than a foot away from him, had shaken his hand... Hell, she’d hoped he was flirting with her...

Sigyn put her laptop down beside her, pulled her knees up and folded in on herself, pressing her face into her legs to find the darkness. The previous night, when she’d seen all those visions playing in her head, it had, strange as the fact was, not in any real way _shocked_ her. She knew it should have, but the information had seemed to... well, to _fit_ , though she couldn’t say with what. But she hadn’t been prepared for this onslaught of things she couldn’t fully make sense of. And yet, somehow, through all this, the metal around her wrists seemed, if it were possible, _comforting_.

With a sigh, she uncurled and picked the laptop back up. Okay, perhaps Loki – he’d been truthful about his name, how ironic – was a lead. She’d seen this... alien, apparently, who could do, well, _magic_ , and not long after all these strange things had started happening to her. It made sense that he could have caused them. She read on, but there wasn’t much more about Loki, just the facts of the attack on New York. There was a lot more on Thor, who was apparently his adopted brother – alien Thor and Loki, it seemed, differed from the mythological versions. Most of the information about Thor was gossip-column stuff, but on one page Sigyn unexpectedly came across a familiar name: Dr Jane Foster.

There had been a Dr Jane Foster in a bulletin she’d received recently about visiting researchers (she’d made a point to go through and count every single woman; it hadn’t taken long). She fished it out of the waste-paper basket.

“Dr Jane Foster,” it read, “eminent astrophysicist known for her recent work on ‘the Convergence’ and ground-breaking research into Einstein-Rosen bridges.”

Gobbledegook to Sigyn, but there was an email address.

She drafted something. Redrafted it. Deleted the whole thing and started from scratch. How was she even supposed to put this into words? In the end, she settled on simply:

 

_Dear Dr Foster,_

_I know this is out of the blue, but I thought you might be looking into what happened last night, and I have some information about it that I’d like to discuss with you if you’re available?_

_Many thanks,_

_Sigyn Scrivener_

It seemed easier not to explain over email – every time she typed any of it out it looked so ridiculous that she found herself erasing it, even though she was writing to someone who was apparently dating an alien who could control storms.

She hadn’t expected a reply immediately, but it came through.

 

_Are you trolling or is this serious? It’s a massive dick move to waste the time of scientists who saved your ass from some sorta gravitational smushing yknow._

Before Sigyn could work out a reply, another email came through.

 

_Dear Dr Scrivener,_

_I apologise for that last email – it was sent by my intern..._

*

 Considering what she and Darcy had witnessed in the last few years, Jane didn’t, for the most part, find Sigyn’s story that strange. She did feel for her, sitting there explaining to two strangers something that she knew made her sound completely insane, and she tried her best to offer reassurance, but her efforts were competing both with her excitement at the phenomenal energy patterns the scanner was showing when waved over Sigyn’s wrists and with a stew of emotions she couldn’t quite name about one particular element of her story.

When Sigyn had finished explaining, Jane, with frequent interruptions from Darcy, recounted what had happened in New Mexico. She then apologised, managing not to sound _too_ bitter, that she couldn’t give more information about New York, but she’d not been there – hadn’t even seen Thor for over a year after it, in fact. And then it was the more recent events, London, the ‘off-world’ episodes, and then, at last, there was enough context to try and articulate what was bothering her.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, I just... _am_. He tried to wipe out one whole world, then conquer another, I should _not_ be surprised, at all... And yet I feel like after that whole experience on the Dark World... honestly, I found myself agreeing with Thor that his brother wasn’t, at heart, a bad person... just... imbalanced. But now... God, how could he do that to Thor? He was _devastated_. And they have all that stupid macho culture where he didn’t feel he could actually _let on_ that he was devastated, it was all quiet, behind closed doors suffering. He thought he was _dead_ , and all this time he’s been... What? What the hell _has_ he been doing? Argh, this is one of those times I wish Thor were a normal guy that I could just call when I need to tell him something, but _no,_ he has to be off in _space_ , with no way to contact him...”

Not looking up from her phone, Darcy interjected, “Yeah yeah, boohoo, you’re dating a literal sex god, Jane, that must be so hard on you.”

“I was just saying it would be nice to be able to get in touch with him...”

Jane thought Sigyn looked... maybe a little strained, but her voice was level when, raising her wrists slightly under the scanner, she asked, “So do you think Loki could be behind these, whatever they are?”

“Doesn’t really seem Prince of Darkness’s style to hand out superpowers to random girls – no offence. Although the guy is also a total nutjob, so all bets are off. Plus, you’re named after his _wife_ , which is...” Darcy imitated the _Twilight Zone_ music.

“He doesn’t have a wife,” Jane came back. “And Thor said our myths are basically made up – apparently the Vikings just got really attached to the characters and started coming up with their own stories for them, even making up their own characters. Sigyn – myth Sigyn, I mean – is definitely one of those. Thor was pretty amazed by some of the stuff the myths invented...”

Darcy leant towards Sigyn mock-conspiratorially. “He just laughed when Selvig said that in the myths Thor’s married to Sif – I didn’t even know Jane could turn that colour! And the sight of a super ripped god looking like a rabbit in the headlights, back-tracking and fervently denying...”

“We’re getting off topic!” Jane grumbled, aware her cheeks were heading towards a repeat performance of said colour.

“Okay, _fine_. So, you’re named after this made-up character that myth-writers claimed was married to Loki, and he may or may not have done some freaky voodoo and turned you into the Vegas lightshow version of Claire Bennet. To me, that’s a pretty huge coincidence.”

“I don’t know... My mum’s always been passionate about overlooked and magical women in myths and legends – my middle name’s Nyneve, after the sorceress in _Le Morte Darthur._ But the fact that the kenning kept coming up... I don’t know how I know it, but I _know_ these say ‘incantation-fetter’.”

Jane leaned back in her seat and huffed out a breath. “I don’t know what to make of any of this. I wish Erik were here, but he’s not back from the States for another week... And of course, we don’t have S.H.I.E.L.D. to turn to anymore...”

There was a moment of silence, suddenly interrupted by the doorbell.

Darcy sprang up immediately.

“Were you expecting someone?”

“Only the love of my life,” she replied airily.

She returned a minute later laden with Chinese takeout boxes.

“Sig, I don’t know what you like, so I ordered everything that looked vaguely good.”

“When did you order takeout?”

“There’s an app for that now, Jane, try to keep up with science.”

As they divvied up the food (Darcy was delighted to discover Sigyn was a vegetarian, seeing it as a fantastic way to offload broccoli), Jane became aware that the mood had very definitely shifted from ‘research’ to ‘social’. Jane was not normally good at social, but Darcy made these things easier... mostly.

“So like, if we cut off your hand, d’ya think it would grow back, or re-attach?”

“I... have no idea. And I’m not exactly keen to test it.”

“Jane, professional opinion as the one of us most likely in line for a Nobel Prize?”

She couldn’t help grinning at her and responding, “I don’t know, I’ve heard you practising your acceptance speech in the bathroom.” Maybe Darcy was rubbing off on her.

“Okay fine,” Darcy went on, unfazed, “most likely in line for a Nobel Prize _for a science_.” She turned to Sigyn. “I’ve got big plans for a peace prize. I’ve just gotta get Krispy Kreme on board.”

“In terms of regeneration or re-attachment,” Jane resumed the subject, “I’d say first of all it depends on whether you were holding her severed hand up to the wrist or not. I doubt it could, like, fly through the air to reattach itself, but if the tissue were right there, then there might be a chance of it reattaching on its own. That said, regeneration is a phenomenon seen in nature in a way that reattachment isn’t, in lizards, starfish and worms, for example. Honestly though, my hunch is that cutting her hand off wouldn’t work at all. I have nothing to substantiate this, of course, but I keep thinking about when the Aether was in me, and it would blast anyone who got too close – that was the Aether trying to protect itself, but this seems like it’s something trying to protect _you_. Something as small as a cut, sure, it can just stitch you back together, but serious damage? I mean, like you say, we wouldn’t want to test it, and I’m just speculating...”

“Have we not exhausted maiming me as a conversation topic yet?”

“Barely started,” said Darcy lightly. “But new topic anyway: Jane’s godly boo gave up being king for her, and she can’t see that as the most disgusting, gooey, sugar-sweet, ovary-meltingly romantic thing ever: what is wrong with her?”

Jane groaned and let her head drop into her hands. She completely rescinded her earlier thought: Darcy was making this socialising thing way, way worse.

“It’s _overwhelming_!” she protested. “Yeah it’s sweet, and yes I do want a life with him, but my god how the hell are you supposed to live up to the experience of being king?”

“Jane, with no prompting, no cajoling, no freaking hesitation, _he picked you_! He isn’t bitter about it, it’s just you Jane-ing out and telling yourself that one day he’s going to be, which is based on your impression of you, not his! If you ask me–”

“I did not ask you–”

“ _If you ask me,_ he’s made the best decision of his freakishly long life, ‘cause _hello_ ,” she waved a hand to encapsulate Jane’s being. “Sig, I hope you’re gonna be hanging about here more often, because I could use a second in command for operation Calm Down Dr Overanalyse-Things-With-My-Insanely-Hot-Jealousy-Inducing-God-Lover. I am not paid nearly enough for this kind of full-time work.”

Jane suddenly found herself very absorbed in the chow mein, but she was sure Darcy could see how pink she’d gone.  

 *

Hugin and Munin watched the three women eat and talk. They croaked to one another, a brief conversation, soundly in accordance with each other’s views, and took off into the darkening sky.             

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this didn't feel too much like a filler! Please keep letting me know what you think, and if you like come join me on tumblr at someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com :)


	5. But A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some answers! But still hardly enough...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who remembered she said she'd post this chapter a day early!
> 
> The title of this chapter probably deserves a quick explanatory note: it's taken from Henry V, when King Henry disguises himself and hangs out with his soldiers in camp before the Battle of Agincourt. He says, whilst disguised, 'The king is but a man, as I am.' Aside from all the 'this is the king in disguise saying this' stuff to think about, there's also a very cool double meaning based on the two meanings of 'but': either, 'the king is only a man, as I am', or, 'the king is not a man, as I am not', in the style of 'anything but'. I thought this issue of navigating humanity and kingship was very pertinent to the Thor movies.
> 
> Warnings: the discussion of grief gets heavy here.  
> This was my therapy chapter, which was perhaps self-indulgent, but was also really helpful to me and hopefully doesn't detract from the story!

> Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
> 
> _Henry IV Part Two,_ William Shakespeare

 

Thor used to love racing his friends. Those were the days before they were deemed old enough to train with weapons, but Thor had still loved to challenge others. He always knew he would win; he could best any of them in any physical contest. His blind confidence had made him eagerly agree when Loki announced one morning that their usual track was _juvenile_ , and warriors wouldn’t compete over a hundred yards but over a matter of miles. The new challenge was set: three laps of the training grounds. It was, of course, his undoing.

Though Thor’s bulk allowed him to build acceleration quickly, it only weighed him down when trying to run distance. Loki, by contrast, was fleet-footed, his muscle all lithe and light, and he had sailed past Thor, laughing all the while. Afterwards, Loki had said it was all calculated, knowing how to measure your breath and stride. That had only made Thor more irritated. They didn’t do races after that.

Thor found the memory forced into his mind now, with no warning, as his lungs burnt and he panted desperately. Attempting to sprint from the observatory to the palace was absurd, but pure adrenaline kept his legs pounding. He almost collided with Sif on the steps.

“Thor...”

“Father,” he rasped.

“In his chambers.”

He bobbed his head in thanks and took off running again.

He only truly came to a halt when he reached the door to Odin’s chambers. He panted, his palm flat against the wall beside the doorframe. Despite all his haste, he suddenly felt apprehensive about entering.

His father’s voice came from within, almost like a whisper: “Thor.”

“I’m here, Father,” he called as he moved into the room, his voice steadier than he felt.

He had called his father an old man once, what seemed a lifetime ago, but this was the first moment that his father’s true age hit him. He had never seen the King of Asgard look frail before. It was frightening. The oversized wingback chair he sat in was intricately embellished with gold insignia, his robe a regal red, but it was not enough to ward off the air of domesticity.

“What did Hemidall tell you?”

It was for the best his father spoke; Thor would not have known what to say.

“That you had been in the Odinsleep; that you were now awake; that I must come... That we had all been deceived.”

“Leaving you to infer the obvious from that, of course.”

Thor shook his head. “I dared not hope...”

Odin smiled sadly. “He lives.”

When at last he could speak, his voice was choked. “What happened?”

“Please sit, Thor.”

He obediently sank into the other chair, which gave him a better view of the lines of his father’s face. He looked as though he’d been crying. Thor didn’t know what to do with that revelation.

“I believed it to be one of the einherjar who brought me news that Loki’s body had been found on Svartalfheim.” Odin’s voice was soft, measured, his eye focused on some far-off thing Thor could not see. “In that moment, I felt overwhelmingly the weight of my own failure. And it followed in the footsteps of my failure to defend Frigga. I presume you remember that my last Odinsleep was interrupted? The result was, perhaps, unsurprising, though I do not believe Loki anticipated it. He seemed rather taken-aback in the moment that I collapsed, and suddenly it was no longer a member of the einherjar standing over me but my second son. I take it he was severely wounded?”

Thor’s throat was dry, but he forced the words out. “I can’t imagine how he survived it... His greatest trick, to be sure. In order to get close enough to the Kursed to destroy it, he allowed it to run him through. He saved me. And Jane. For it to have been an illusion...”

“No. He was covered in blood, and swaying from the loss of it. However he survived, it was not without great sacrifice.”

Thor nodded slowly. He didn’t know what else to do.

“I would ask you to bring him home.”

“Of course. As before.” His tone was off for it to be a light-hearted comment; the pain where the loss still stuck in his chest weighed it down.

“It was the Norns who uncovered his masquerade, though it is likely they knew from the start and only revealed it when they felt it was necessary to do so; we cannot begin to fathom how far they see, nor is their agenda clear to us – perhaps it is better that way. A delegation came to share with me information they felt I should have; in the process, they revealed Loki.”

“Where is he now?”

His gaze sharpened on Thor in a way that told him it would be a circuitous answer. “I am aware that you took the decision to abdicate, but there is still information I would have you be privy to, especially in my weakened state. You know that we hold an Infinity Stone in the vaults? And that Loki was using another to fight his war on Midgard? And that it was a third which Malekith sacked Asgard to try and obtain?”

“Yes; these legendary things suddenly rearing their heads all at once...”

“One begins to realise how the Midgardians must feel,” his father said with a trembling smile that did not reach his sad eye. “You are right, of course. You remember the gauntlet I showed you in the weapons’ vault when you were a boy?”

“I do.”

“That is a way of harnessing the Infinity Stones in the way one may harness a wild horse, a way to use their power. But there is also a way to bind them, a way to obtain absolute power over them.”

Thor swallowed. “Such a thing would be a weapon beyond imagination...”

“No,” his father replied softly. “When they are thus contained, their power is bound, is kept safe from usage. Absolute power over the Infinity Stones means accepting that their power cannot be used.”

“How does it work?”

Odin’s lips pursed. “The Norns remain reticent on that point. All they will tell me is that the ancients created a powerful magical article which they placed in the space between worlds, utterly inaccessible except by its designed keeper. The night before last, this creation was summoned.”

Thor recognised some echoes of his connection to Mjolnir in what his father said. “What is it?”

“As best I can understand it, _jewellery_. The Norns refer to the keeper as the _Incantation-Fetter_ , apparently because of the role in binding power – they are of a rather poetic nature; they claim the artefact summoned is a symbol of this. They wish to speak to the keeper in person, and will not disclose any more until such time. And they tell me Loki seeks her, too.”

A memory from the journey across Svartalfheim flashed through Thor’s mind and he groaned. “Of _course_ he will. He thinks he can use this power to his own benefit?”

“That they would not say. Fortunately, Hugin and Munin have located her, so at least we shall lose no time: she is with your Jane Foster.”

“What? How?”

“The ravens tell me there is a budding friendship. But the consequence is this: go to Jane Foster, who will lead you to the Incantation-Fetter, who will in turn lead you to Loki. And bring all three back with you.”

Thor faltered. “Including Jane?”

“Yes, including Jane. I have been absent from a great many discussions I ought to have had a say in. I intend to rectify that.”

Thor bowed; weak as his father looked, he was still the King.           

*

Sigyn had led Jane to a small garden outside the back of the faculty meeting rooms which no one used so they’d have some peace to enjoy their coffee – or, as Jane had argued, for _her_ to enjoy her coffee and Sigyn to drink her milk-tainted horror. Darcy was tucked up at home happily giving herself carpal tunnel swiping through shirtless pictures of Captain America and period shots of the Howling Commandos (“I’m feeling homesick, okay?” she’d protested as they’d left).

“Let me just check I have the facts here: you had a long weekend with this guy, kissed once, he vanished for _two years_ , then he shows up again, you have an intergalactic adventure, he gives up a throne for you, and, in the last six months he’s dropped by and dropped away again with at least a week in between each visit, often several?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Jane was concentrating on her coffee. She hated boy conversations. She wasn’t used to having them, either – back in high school when her classmates had been getting excited about prom dates she’d been pleading with her mom to extend her curfew to let her see a meteor shower. This new necessity for boy conversations (if a perceived god from another planet who was over a thousand years old could be called a boy) irked her.

“That’s... Well, let’s just say you’ve outdone my most confusing relationship by light years.”

“I can’t even really explain it,” she found herself saying. “I was never someone who particularly cared about relationships. My mom has this whole theory that I date guys I _know_ are assholes so I can put minimal effort into the relationship and just let it implode. And then there was Thor, and... I don’t know, I don’t wanna psychologise myself – although if you want that, ask Darcy, she _loves_ it – but... at first it was almost...” she drew a long breath, “ _dreamy_ , it was almost dreamy, because he was gone so I didn’t have to do the day to day relationship functioning I’m so crappy at, but doing my work, which I’m great at, was a way of getting closer to him. But physically closer, not emotionally closer. And then he was in New York. And that was a knife to the freaking chest.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Darcy had been there when she’d discovered it, had watched her reaction; she’d not needed to explain it before. But nothing in Sigyn’s face suggested she thought Jane was overreacting, so she let herself carry on.

“I really cared. It was the first relationship I really, actually cared about – I know that sounds stupid, all things considered. When things went to hell with Donald – that’s the last guy I dated before Thor – I was mad, sure, but not... It just wasn’t really a loss. But Thor... Thor was a loss. Even though we’d only spent a few days together. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. So I tried to move on – massively unsuccessfully, I should say – I basically just managed to feel mad and hurt and upset and to have dreams about him all the time, like some lovesick teenager, which is just _not me_... And then he was back. And it was just like before, only better... And then he gave up being king and that’s... that’s a whole other thing I don’t know how to deal with. It’s just like, every time he’s here it’s wonderful and it feels so _right_ , but it’s also... well, like a vacation. Every time he’s here it’s a _trip_ , it’s not real everyday stuff – although what real everyday stuff you do with a Norse god I have no idea – and it’s feels like it’s never actually hit the relationship stage. And in the context of that how am I meant to handle the fact he gave up _ruling Asgard_? I bet his dad thinks he gave it all up for the outcome of an uncertain fling, and... and I kinda feel like that too.”

“Have you told him this?”

That question was no less annoying from Sigyn than it had been from Darcy. “No... I just... One of the things about dating a guy who may as well be your fantasy boyfriend because he’s literally sprung right out of the realms of fantasy is that having serious relationship talks with him seems wrong. It’s too normal. It’s just this cycle of epic romance and absence, none of the mundane everyday stuff.”

“But you want it to be normal, mundane everyday stuff, which you haven’t wanted before.”

Jane said, very quietly, “I love him.” She hadn’t said that to him. He hadn’t said it to her. It was something speculated but unknown – _theoretical_ , she would joke to herself.

“If it’s any comfort, a story that crazy really should have a happy ending.”

She laughed weakly. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a time, until Jane thought of something to ask. It seemed like it was her turn to inquire about Sigyn’s life, and there was something she’d found it hard to get her head round: “I still don’t understand how you didn’t know what had gone on in New York two years ago until yesterday. How do you miss something like that? Darcy and I saw the footage in Tromsø.”

She hadn’t realised it would have such a strong reaction. Sigyn visibly stiffened and dropped her gaze. Her free hand joined the other wrapped around her takeaway coffee cup as though seeking comfort from it.

“I didn’t _not_ know, I just... didn’t know _in detail_.”

Jane said nothing, loath to press. Sigyn looked back to her, as though thinking carefully, then looked away to continue talking, eyes focussed on the coffee cup. “My brother – half-brother – but we were close – very close – he... died.” Jane thought she actually heard Sigyn’s throat constrict. Jane knew that feeling all too well, the feeling that such a simple sentence could not begin to encapsulate what it was to lose someone, thought it was always hard to say. “It was two years ago last week. Cerebral aneurysm. Wednesday he seemed okay, a bit under the weather maybe; Thursday morning he collapsed; Friday night he died. He was six years younger than me.” Her eyes flicked to Jane. “It’s weird, you know, that even after everything that’s happened – weird visions, instant healing, magic, aliens – the fact that he actually died is still the thing I absolutely cannot believe.”

Sigyn had started shredding the paper wrapping on her cup. Jane thought about telling her how sometimes, even now, she wanted to call her dad and talk to him about things in her life, even though he’d been gone for so long, but decided not to intrude.

“So first of all I didn’t see it. They put us in this little family room – do you have those in the States? – whilst he had all his scans – me, my mum, my step-dad, and obviously we didn’t have the TV on. And then when we came out – this probably sounds completely crazy, but aliens had literally landed and I didn’t care. For about the first three months I kept expecting I’d just drop dead myself at any moment – it seemed totally wrong to me that he’d died and I hadn’t. It actually made me really irrationally angry that I never got to choose to die instead, to save him, you know? The trope of self-sacrifice... Which I guess is a lot realer to you than the average person... It didn’t feel like the world should have continued without him.” Her mouth twisted. “ _Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, and thou no breath at all?_ ”

“It doesn’t sound crazy to me,” Jane said softly.

“So,” she went on, still looking at her shredded cup, “I never saw it at first, never followed up, and then knowing that it was all at the same time... It reminded me too much. So I never looked. So that’s why.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jane hated how weak that sounded.

Sigyn looked back to her, mouth open for a reply and froze. Something crossed her face that Jane couldn’t identify, and then, with visible effort, she exhaled, her expression smoothing.

“Were you planning on just skulking over there indefinitely?” she called over Jane’s shoulder.

Jane spun but could see no one.

“What –”

It was like he just stepped into being. She sprung to her feet without knowing which emotion she was meaning to display. Sigyn remained seated, her face tight, but her hands were shaking around the cup.

“How _do_ you do that?” Loki pondered aloud. His eyes were on Sigyn, but it was obvious he was speaking to himself. He was all grace and smugness, just as Jane remembered.

His eyes flicked to her and he inclined his head pleasantly, that thin-lipped smile firmly in place. “Dr Foster. Or Jane, perhaps? I understand you and Thor are quite serious now. Does that put us on first name terms?”

“We thought you _died!_ ” Jane shouted at the exact same moment that Sigyn demanded, “What did you do to me?”

Jane was seething. Her hands were balled into fists in an effort to restrain herself. Loki only seemed amused by her anger.

“Well, it was the intention,” he told her mildly, though there was a hardness behind his eyes. “Sometimes even the best plans go awry. And you,” he turned to Sigyn, who sat inscrutable, her straight-backed posture effectively covering any lingering trembles, “I have done nothing to you, and frankly I resent the accusation. Was it Odin who sent you to seek me out?”

“Oh no,” Jane rounded on him again, “we’re not letting go of the whole _we thought you died_ thing just like that!”

Loki sighed a long-suffering sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked at her again, but before he could say anything the sky seemed to crack open, and what Jane now recognised as the Bifrost split down to earth. Something came whistling from it and collided with Loki, who was knocked to the ground by the force of it. It was a chain, Jane realised, though now, wrapped around the writhing Loki, it seemed longer than it could possibly have been when it had been flung from the Bifrost.

“We’ve improved our technologies for capture since last you tried this stunt, _brother_.”

And Thor stepped from the rainbow light.

He surveyed the scene and favoured Jane with a brief smile (she wanted to kick herself for the way it made her heart flutter) before focusing on Loki.

“You let me believe you were dead.” The tone of his voice was heart-breaking.

“You know, Thor,” Loki said, amazingly lightly for someone lying on the grass bound in what must be an enchanted chain, “the Midgardians have a saying that I believe may prove pertinent: _fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice–_ ”

Thor roared and hoisted Loki up by the chains around his chest. Jane sunk back to her former place on the bench without taking her eyes off the scene. Loki’s feet swung freely off the ground, but that smug smile was still plastered on his face.

Thor spoke through gritted teeth: “We will discuss this further at home. With _our_ father.” He gave Loki a warning shake, “No arguments.” He turned to the two women on the bench, suddenly seeming almost bashful, even as he still held a mass-murdering god a foot above the ground, “Jane, if you would like – I would certainly like it – you would be very welcome to return with me and sojourn on Asgard for a time.”

Jane’s mouth worked briefly before she spoke. The only word she could find was, “Sure.” She still felt utterly lost. On top of all the warring brothers stuff, she’d _just_ been complaining that her and Thor’s whole relationship seemed to be based around vacationing and here he was this invitation... She didn’t know how to feel about it. She needed time to process. The smile that broke out over Thor’s face at her answer was adorable though, she knew that much.

“And,” Thor looked to Sigyn, “I know we have not met, however –”

“I’ve been brought up to speed,” she said, her tone echoing Jane’s in its need for later processing of events.

“Ah, excellent. Well, I was asked to bring you also.”

 Sigyn gave an exclamation of shock and Loki crowed, “I knew it!”

“You knew what?” Thor asked him, seeming already tired.

“You know she’s named after that fictional wife the mortals gave me? This is another manipulation of your father’s making.”

“Not everything is about you.”

“Indeed not; almost everything is about _you_.”

“Loki...”

“Sorry,” Sigyn cut in, “can I just... You want me to come with you?”

His answer was classic Thor, good-natured straightforwardness: “Yes.”

“But I... Why?”

Keeping Loki lifted up with one hand, he pointed to the bracelets around Sigyn’s wrists, “Those you only came by the night before last, yes?”

“I _knew_ those readings bore resemblance to the Bifrost!” Jane declared before she could stop herself.

“You can explain to me what’s been happening?” Sigyn asked.

“Not I,” Thor replied, “but in Asgard are those who can.”

Jane could almost hear Darcy’s voice in her head shouting: “Space-cation!”       

              

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line Sigyn quotes is from King Lear (which, by the way, is the Thor-est play ever!). 
> 
> I uploaded this chapter a day early because I won't be able to do it tomorrow (my usual update day), and as people have been so nice as to leave comments and kudos (seriously I thought no one would want to read this but me!) I thought I'd give it a day early rather than late :) next week it will be as usual though! 
> 
> Find me (and my fic!) at someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading, and a special thank you to everyone leaving comments, you make my day! <3


	6. Foretold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, at last, Sigyn learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update is a day late!
> 
> Warnings:  
> sexual references, mentions of incest in a highly abstract way (celestial beings who don't even have bodies, let alone really having familial relationships, but warning to be safe)

 

> But the Gods are like publishers,
> 
> usually male,
> 
> and what you doubtless know of my tale
> 
> is the deal.
> 
> ‘Eurydice’, Carol Ann Duffy

 

Though Thor had insisted that everything they could possibly need would be provided on Asgard, both Sigyn and Jane had wanted to gather some things to take with them – and Sigyn suspected Jane also wanted to make the point that Thor’s way of dropping in and out wasn’t exactly considerate of her own needs – so they’d agreed to pack and meet at Jane’s mother’s place in an hour. She could only assume that Thor had dragged Loki in chains the whole way.

Sigyn had taken the opportunity to phone her mother.

“I’m just calling to let you know I’m going away with a new friend, kind of spur-of-the-moment, but the opportunity just came up. Her name’s Jane – she worked on the Convergence, that thing that happened in London in November? Yeah, really fascinating connections to Norse mythology, actually! We should talk about it soon. I just wanted to let you know because I’m probably not going to be reachable for a while – not totally sure how long, but I’ll phone you as soon as I have signal!” All true, technically. Right up until her mum had asked where they were going and she’d found herself saying, “Orkney.”

She’d tell the truth as soon as she managed to believe it herself.

Jane, when she let Sigyn in, was exhibiting the same mingled apprehension, uncertainty and excitement that Sigyn felt. She too had a rucksack slung on her back, and she kept adjust its position and shifting her weight, but she was struggling to hide a smile as she led Sigyn out onto the roof.

The two gods were already there, utterly incongruous in the close, urban setting. Thor smiled warmly at Jane. Loki, still chained, appeared bored by the whole affair.

“Are we ready?” Thor asked.

Murmurs of agreement from Jane and Sigyn; an icy look of hauteur from Loki.

Thor looked upwards and bellowed: “Heimdall!”

An echoing crack broke through the city noises and then everything was light and rushing movement.

The closest thing Sigyn could possibly compare it to was the opening sequence to the revamped Doctor Who from the 2000s, but with more colours. It was a weak analogy though: actually being the one sucked through the tumbling tunnel of rainbow light was nothing like watching a computer-generated image on a screen; it overloaded her senses. Yet it was over almost as soon as it had begun.

Sigyn found herself in what seemed to be a golden pavilion. She’d expected to stagger on arrival, most likely to fall over, but she felt oddly stable, as though she’d never moved from the roof in London.

“Bifrost travel is an experience unto itself,” a deep voice said.

Sigyn looked up from where she’d been inspecting her boots on the golden floor to see a tall man standing to attention on a raised dais, his hands clasped around the hilt of a sword set into the ground in front of him. She realised his eyes, like his elaborate helmet, and seemingly everything else here, were golden.

“Welcome to Asgard,” he said, fluidly pulling the sword from its slot. The rainbow light behind them died instantly.

This must be Heimdall, then. Sigyn wasn’t sure what she’d expected, really; it was all still too fantastical. She tried to keep herself from staring.

Thor strolled forward, tugging Loki along behind him and nodding to Heimdall as he passed. Loki looked at the gatekeeper as though daring him to say something, but he merely stared impassively back. She did notice the hint of a smile flicker across his face as Jane smiled nervously at him as she trailed after Thor, though.

“Umm, thank you for the...” Sigyn waved her hand behind her to indicate the Bifrost. As best she could understand it, he was the driver of whatever had just happened, and, far away from home as she was, there were some habits that just couldn’t be shaken.

“You are welcome, Incantation-Fetter.”

She blinked. “Sigyn. You can call me Sigyn.”

He inclined his head.

The golden dome was on the end of a very sci-fi looking multi-coloured translucent roadway, which was currently occupied by several guards, four of whom stepped forward with more chains, taking Loki from Thor. The fifth guard, the only woman, glanced briefly at Thor and Jane then turned to Sigyn and bowed.

“Incantation-Fetter. I am Sif. I have been instructed to escort you to the Norns’ delegation. If you’d kindly follow me.”

Sigyn hoped she avoided looking too surprised. Sif was not blonde. In the scale of everything else, that should not have even factored as a shock, really.

“My name’s Sigyn,” she told Sif.

She, as Heimdall had, merely inclined her head.

The guards were already leading Loki along the bridge towards the city. Sigyn felt a strange, unnameable emotion, watching him marched away; she told herself it was witnessing the brutality of such archaic restraints.

She shared a quick glance with Jane before following Sif to a little two-person carriage, a sort of chariot really, open to the air and with just two seats, though it was very elaborate, shining in the ubiquitous gold. She waved a little awkwardly to Thor and Jane, who were walking, taking in some sites, apparently, and getting a chance to talk, as they set off.

The guards halted Loki to allow them to pass in the chariot. Had they thought a tumbrel was a bit too much, she wondered? Or was having to walk through the streets of the city, so openly on display in chains, part of the punishment?

Sif cut into her thoughts. “I will admit I am curious as to what exactly it means to be an ‘Incantation-Fetter’.”

“Honestly? So am I. Every day seems to get weirder for me than the last.”

Sif made a polite, curious noise.

“I always thought it was just a kenning that goes with my namesake – who apparently doesn’t exist, despite Norse mythology being a real thing... more or less,” she added, eyeing Sif’s dark hair again. “I’m just as confused as you are, believe me. Probably more so, actually: your whole planet is totally new to me.”

“You are only the second Midgardian to come here in the entire history of Asgard. Jane Foster was the first.” There was a hint of something in Sif’s voice that Sigyn couldn’t quite identify. “The Allfather was... less than pleased.”

“So why bring us here now?”

“With you, there was little choice: the Norns told him you must come, and the Allfather would not refuse them; they possess foresight beyond even the Queen’s. I’ve never known the Norns to come to Asgard; whatever you possess must be of great import. As for Jane Foster...” Sif let out a breath, “Perhaps if it had been the Allfather Thor petitioned his abdication to rather than Loki in disguise, the outcome would have been different. Or perhaps he simply wishes to get to know the woman who will likely become his daughter-in-law. I know not.”

Sigyn wanted to press Sif on this, but they were already slowing down as they approached the palace.

“The Allfather will wish to speak with you,” Sif said as they drew to a stop, “but he must deal with Loki first. The Norns are in one of the visitors’ suites. This way.”

Sigyn had a decent grounding in how castles differed from one another. This one, she was certain, was designed both as a royal residence, built to have comfortable rooms and to display the family’s power with its opulence, and as a military centre, a defensive heart of the city. But it was also conspicuously unlike what she was used to; every gleam of gold had some hint of the fantastical to it.

Sif lead her through a maze of wide corridors decked out with gold-threaded tapestries. Eventually they came to a corridor that ended with a large, pentagonal door.

“This is it.”

Sigyn had to resist the urge to ask Sif not to leave when she thanked her. She took a moment to steel herself before raising her fist to knock.

“Come in,” a voice called before her knuckles had connected with the wood.

She swallowed, but turned the handle, surprisingly warm to the touch, and stepped into the chamber.

Three women of distinct ages sat side-by-side on a long red velvet couch. All three were knitting. They smiled warmly at Sigyn as she came in.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last Sigyn,” the woman in the middle said. “Please, sit.” She indicated a large wingback chair opposite them. “I am Verðandi. This,” with her knitting she indicated the elderly woman immediately to her left, “is Urðr. And this,” the woman on the end of the couch – or perhaps teenager, really, “is Skuld.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“We have a story to tell you,” Verðandi told her plainly, dextrously moving the stitches from one needle to the other as she spoke. “It will seem strange to you – strange even in light of everything else that has happened – but if you allow yourself to, you will see the truth in it.”

Sigyn nodded, her throat dry. The atmosphere felt charged. “Go ahead.”

It was Urðr who spoke then, she too knitting all the while. The stitches seemed to shift their colours, swirling and producing shadowy shapes that danced across the wool. “This story begins with the universe itself. When the universe began, there were only four beings: Infinity, Eternity, Entropy and Death. These cosmic entities are in conflict: Infinity and Eternity driven to create, Entropy and Death to destroy. And so, balance.

“Before the universe, there had been six singularities, and with time the cosmic entities condensed these to form the Infinity Stones (I know you recognise those from the vision). But that threatened the balance of the universe: the other beings that now existed saw the power of the Infinity Stones, and not only fought over them but invented new ways to reap destruction with them. They devised a way to harness the power of all six Stones, enough to tear the universe apart at the seams, to wipe out worlds with a flick of the wrist. It could not be allowed to continue.

“So Eternity and Infinity came up with a way to restore the balance. They created something which could contain the Infinity Stones to prevent their power from being used, something which could bind magic: the Incantation-Fetter.”

Sigyn touched the metal around her wrist, her mind reeling and her mouth dry.

“No,” Urðr said, “not those: you.”

“What?”

“They’re merely a tool, something created to help you. You are what Infinity and Eternity created.”

The room seemed to have shifted – no longer bordering on the fantastical, something solid but hard to believe, it had become pure fantasy, totally incredible, like a dreamscape in which Sigyn had no control. She openly stared at the Norns. The expression on their faces she’d seen before on others before: her mother when she’d told Sigyn she wanted to marry Martin; the doctors who’d told them her brother was going to die...

“How?” she asked, her voice croaking slightly. “I’m normal, I can’t have been _created_ , people aren’t—” The thought that hit her made her stomach turn. “No. _No._ That is _not_... I... _Tell me that isn’t true._ ”

“We did not bring you here to lie to you, Incantation-Fetter,” Verðandi said gently.

“Who? _What?_ ”

Sigyn had never really felt curious about her father. She’d never felt that she’d needed one; her step-father she tolerated when he came along because he made her mother happy, but she’d always been fine with just her mum. She had picked up, piecemeal over many years, that her conception had been an accident and the man involved was never going to be a part of her life. Her grandmother had thought it would trouble her; it didn’t. She’d never been that impressed by the fathers of the girls at her school and hadn’t really understood why she was expected to want one. She’d had an image of herself as simply coming into existence from her mother, like Athena from Zeus’ head, with no need of a second party. But now...

When Urðr spoke, it was straightforward, no beating about the bush: “Eternity and Infinity themselves.”

“Both?” It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“In one human form.”

“So I am... still human?” How had she come to a point where that was in doubt?

“Not precisely,” said Verðandi.

“Then what?” Her voice didn’t even sound familiar to her anymore.

“You are unique. Like only yourself.”

The expression on Sigyn’s face seemed to push her to say more. “But in terms of practical matters, you will have a longer lifespan than you were anticipating, though not immortality. It is the fetters, honing your powers, that protect you from injury, but your biology that determines your longevity; the Incantation-Fetter is not needed forever.”

“You can expect a life in line with Yggdrasil’s other races,” Skuld told her, as though that were in some way useful information rather than an absurd comparison that further boggled Sigyn’s mind.

“It is a lot to process,” Verðandi acknowledged.

Sigyn swallowed a hysterical laugh. She was silent for a time, reigning in her reaction, before she asked, “Even if I were to accept all of... _this_ , and how... _it_ is possible... why did it take so long for them to... _make_ their Incantation-Fetter? Why now, why not before?”

It was Verðandi who answered. “Firstly, because the threat of all the Infinity Stones being gathered and used has never been as close to actualisation as it is now. Secondly, because the cosmic entities transcend time: predictions of an Incantation-Fetter have been around for what would be to you millions of years – we like to pride ourselves that ours are the most precise, the best researched – because the intention to bring about the Incantation-Fetter has been around for that time, but it is only now that you are needed, and it is only now that you exist; the cosmic entities, of course, will not see time like that, but we do.”  

 “That is why your mythology from the Norsefolk tells of the Incantation-Fetter,” said Skuld. “We spent some time on Midgard, and shared a little of our learning with them – we did what we could to persuade a few of them away from murdering and enslaving, whilst the Asgardians determinedly insisted it was simply the way of mortals – one would think with all this gaudy decoration in their palace the Asgardians would have a better sense of their own reflections, but I digress – and in that time they came to know snippets of what was foretold of you.”

“Most of the Midgardians’ myths were stories made up about their favourite real figures, Odin or Thor or Tyr – they liked to embellish details, or entirely recreate things based on their own ideas,” Urðr said. “One pair of brothers, Balder and Hodr, even wrote themselves into the stories, taking turns to tell them – though they ended up murdering each other’s characters after fighting over a woman. But the Sigyn of mythology, she is neither based on a real historical figure nor a pure fiction: she is an echo of something yet to come.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” added Skuld. “You are not doomed to live the life of your namesake. The Midgardians struggled to make sense of our predictions, so they did as they do best: they took the parts they wanted and made up the rest to suit them. They found symbolism in their characters, and they made use of it. They made the narrative fit their own idea of the world.”

If Sigyn weren’t still reeling from the preceding revelations, she might have admitted her curiosity about the relationship between metaphor and reality; as it was, she merely stared back dumbly. They were still all three of them knitting. Sigyn became aware that the knitting was forming runes; her mind flitted to _A Tale of Two Cities_ and she felt vaguely sick.  

Urðr’s eyes flicked between her emerging runes and Sigyn’s stony face as she said, “You are in a sense named after yourself, yet at the same time nothing has changed: we had no knowledge of the name you would be given; it was created by the Norsefolk, just as all the stories Sigyn features in within their mythos were composed of their own narrative weaving, and the name and the surrounding lore drew your mother’s interest. Of course, whether that affected the decisions of Infinity and Eternity my research has yet to reveal.”

“So...” Sigyn’s voice sounded like someone else’s. She couldn’t form the words.

“What you fear from your people’s myths will not befall you, Sigyn. We promise it,” Skuld said gently.

“You are also not obligated in any way regarding the younger prince,” said Verðandi. “Mythology does not hold power over you. You will fare best if you continue to think of Sigyn as a fictional namesake and nothing more.”

Sigyn was on the point of formulating an argument about how symbolism couldn’t be divorced from real life as cleanly as that when Skuld, suddenly looking downright mischievous, dropped in casually, “Though it may be worth noting that Angrboða, as well as a great many of Loki’s supposed sexual partners, were pure fabrications.”

“I don’t... know why I would want to know that...” Sigyn replied, her voice still sluggish as her mind tilled through everything.

“You may wish to later,” Skuld rejoined, eyes focussed on her knitting.

Sigyn exhaled very slowly. “To recap,” she said, her voice gradually sounding more familiar to her, “Two ancient beings impregnated my mother as part of some deliberate mission to create me so that I could somehow contain powerful magical forces for destruction that these same ancient beings had a hand in creating?”

“For completeness’ sake,” Verðandi interrupted, “it is worth noting that Infinity and Eternity are not entirely separate beings – this may prove reassuring in considering the number of parties involved in your conception. However, this lack of personal distinction can also encourage a view of them as – siblings...”

Sigyn had to close her eyes.

“I am,” she said stiffly, at length, “only partly human. I have a lifespan of, what, thousands of years? And the mythical goddess I’m named after was in fact some Vikings’ reconstruction of a prediction of me.”

“That is accurate, yes,” Verðandi responded seriously.

“I’m not sure what to do with any of this information.”

“We will remain on Asgard for two days more to answer any questions that occur to you as your true identity settles on you.”

“Yeah, okay... umm... thanks.”

“You are welcome.” It was a sincerer acknowledgement than was probably due to the tainted expression of gratitude.

“I... May I leave?”

“Of course. Your decisions are your own,” Verðandi told her. Could she know how much that very subject plagued Sigyn now? Whether she knew or not, she went on: “We will be here when you have need of us.”

“Thank you,” Sigyn said again, rising stiffly. She looked at the three Norns, their eyes fixed on her with a gentleness that she felt was juxtaposed to the horrific realisations they’d just delivered. The only sound in the room was the soft clacking of three pairs of needles forming more runes.

“Thank you.” This time it was a whisper, her head bowing as she left, walking fast but restraining the urge to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In keeping with my apology at the top, I also want to apologise because there's a chance I may need to change the update schedule to fit around other deadlines... I'll update further next week when I know more what's happening, but don't worry, I am still writing the fic and have it all planned out, so it will keep appearing!
> 
> Hope you're enjoying it! All the lovely comments people have been leaving have moved me so much, thank you all <3
> 
> Find me at someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com!


	7. Myths and Meanings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds himself before Odin once again, and Sigyn is a lover of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, I'm not totally happy with this chapter. Still, the plot is moving forwards! There's also a surprising amount of physics (I am not a scientist by any stretch, so hopefully my research has paid off...) Thanks for the lovely comments, they really keep me buoyed up <3
> 
> Warnings: discussions of grief

> This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon and the stars, as if we were villains by necessity[.]
> 
> _King Lear,_ William Shakespeare

 

Some things had changed since the last time Loki had been dragged before the Allfather; others decidedly had not. He was once again bound; he was once again defiant. As before, he managed to appear to be looking down on Odin despite the King being sat on the raised throne above him; and, as before, he acted as though he were the one in control in spite of all appearances to the contrary. If anything, it was easier this time: Odin looked tired, old, _feeble._ He seemed to perch on the throne rather than fully occupying it.

Loki looked at him with naked contempt. “Here we are once again. History repeating itself. And how, pray tell, will you once again convince yourself and everyone else that you are the merciful king you pretend to be? Or are you to finally abandon the pretence and simply send me to the block?”

Odin leant forward in the throne, looking at Loki seriously with his one eye.

“Tell me more about the new hearings system.”

Loki blinked rapidly. It was the only display of shock he allowed himself.

“Stalling? Have you become such a coward?”

“It is an interesting proposition,” Odin continued, not reacting to Loki’s taunt. “I confess I was surprised to discover you had undertaken such an action – I had thought you would reject local governments as a reduction in your own power.”

Loki sneered. “I am not you.”

When it became clear Odin was waiting for him to go on, he sighed dramatically. “Your system was slow, cumbersome and inefficient; people from the outlying villages were losing whole days of work to come to the palace to beg audience with the King to find a solution to their problems – absurdly minor and easily rectifiable problems in many cases, I should add. Having an elected representative in each district who could solve the ridiculous, petty issues and take on the task of bringing all serious cases to the Capitol for my hearing was a solution logical to anyone with any sense.”

“It appears to have been working very well.”

“By all means, consider my reforms to your archaic system a parting gift. No doubt you will take credit for them regardless.” He was venomous; Odin’s tranquillity infuriated him.

“You performed many of the duties of a king well, Loki.”

“This would, of course, surprise you. Did the hammer that apparently makes such decisions for you lead you astray?”

“Perhaps not _surprise_...” his tone was still aggravatingly calm, almost thoughtful. It made Loki’s jaw clench. “But I was reminded of something I had forgotten. Even a King can forget.”

“A good one would not.”

“How did you find being King?”

Loki’s lip curled. “What would you have me say? ‘Oh, it was _awful_ , I’m just not cut out for it _at all_ ; I hate everyone so much I don’t even want to rule them, just take them away and let me lock myself up with my twisted magic and perverse thoughts.’ Is that about right?”

Odin sighed. Still there was no anger, just weariness and sorrow.

“I married far too well for my own good,” he said, causing Loki to blink again. “When you were growing up, your needs were so different to Thor’s, and I did not know how to meet them. But your mother did. And so, like any man married to a woman too good for him, I stepped back and left her to it. I knew how to care for Thor and never knew how to care for you; that does not mean I did not and do not love you, whatever you may think, Loki.”

His blood was pounding in his ears. “ _Love?_ Is that what you call it? You raised me on _lies_ , and now you would force more down my throat? If you had any _love_ for me at all, you would cease this charade and sentence me to death rather than subjecting me to further falsehoods.”

Odin sighed again. He looked to the guards, “Take him to the dungeons where he will await sentencing. I require time to think over what is to be done.”

Loki cast him a long, dark, contemptuous look before the guards turned him away.

It was whilst his back was turned that Odin murmured, “I am sorry, Loki.”

He did not look back.

*

Jane found Sigyn curled up on a guest room bed reading a book called _Myth and Meaning. Structural Anthropology_ lay next to her.

“You okay?”

Sigyn laid her book aside and sat up. “How did things go with Thor?”

Jane made a face. “He’s gone to speak to his dad. And he wants to see his brother. Then his dad – sorry, _the Allfather_ – wants to see me. Which isn’t intimidating _at all_. What happened to you?”

Sigyn looked like she might not answer, so Jane added, “I could do with something to focus on.”

Sigyn told her. She looked at her hands the whole time, fingers tracing the cover of _Myth and Meaning_ , but her voice was even.

“Wow,” was all Jane could say when she’d finished.

“Yeah. Wow.”

“And how are you feeling about... all that?”

Sigyn let out a huff of air. “How are you meant to react to being told you’re the Chosen One?”

“Well, that’s maybe going a bit far...”

“Is it?”

“I mean, technically, you weren’t _chosen_ , you were deliberately engineered, so...”

“Oh well, in that case it’s _fine_.”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence. As Jane tried to work out what to say, something about Sigyn’s explanation that had seemed a little strange started to itch in her mind.

“You said, ‘This proves the future is written.’ Why focus on that? Why does _that_ bother you?”

Sigyn looked at her for a long moment. Then she sighed. “When did you get so smart?”

“I know you arts folks like to act like scientists don’t understand human emotion, but...”

The smile Sigyn returned to her was weak. “But you can’t work out what it means if the future’s already written?”

“I mean, I get that it gives the impression our actions are meaningless, but that’s not actually...”

“It means he was meant to die, Jane.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“If the future is pre-written, then his death wasn’t a horrific, random act of tragedy, it was meant to be. And I don’t know how to live with that.”

Jane shifted on the bed. She paused before speaking, thinking carefully. Finally: “Can I offer you some science? I promise it’s relevant.”

“Go on.”

“Have you heard of the block universe theory?”

Sigyn raised her eyebrows.

“Right, sorry. Okay, so the block universe theory was developed by Einstein, and is basically the standard view of time amongst physicists. There are a few other theories, but this is the main one. It posits that time is a fourth dimension and our experience of it is illusory – past, present and future all coexist simultaneously – which fits with what the Norns told you about the cosmic entities. You’re thinking about predeterminism, imagining that events were ordained at some fixed point in the past; you’re seeing it as antithetical to chaos, which disturbs you because you find the chaos of the universe comforting – but Sigyn, it isn’t like that. Things aren’t more fixed in the block universe; they’re even more chaotic. The future isn’t written in stone in the sense of it being purposely written and decided upon for some greater good: it’s the same chaotic, random acts rippling across what we perceive as time, which has no logical beginning or end and changes with your position and motion. There is no fixed ‘now’, no neat beautiful timeline; past, present and future are all in the same place, all happening at once...”

“All on the same sofa.” A pause. “Thank you.”

“Of course, to all intents and purposes cause and effect are still very much at play – don’t go thinking Newton’s Laws of Motion don’t work anymore. Some people really take issue with the block universe model because they think it absolves everyone of moral responsibility, but we aren’t those cosmic entities, we don’t live outside the experience of time, so we still have to take action, take part in the world as we experience it, do what we think is right...” She was getting away from herself. “Sorry.”

“No, really. Thank you.”

Jane smiled in response. The smile dropped with Sigyn’s next question.

“So how are you feeling about the audience with Thor’s dad?”

She was saved from replying by the door opening.

Thor’s appearance was like a light being switched on when Jane hadn’t known the room was dim, and she was mildly annoyed at herself for feeling that way. The cycle of questioning the realistic potential of a future with Thor then being with him and just _feeling so much_ was exhausting. This was exactly why she didn’t consider herself a relationship person.

“Loki is in the dungeons. He is awaiting judgement.” His voice, though warm, lacked something. His conversation with his brother likely hadn’t gone well, then. Nevertheless, he smiled at them. “Sigyn Scrivener, I hope you have settled in well?”

There was a brief “uh” before Sigyn replied, “Yes, thank you.”

“I am sorry we have not had much chance to talk, but my father has asked to see Jane. However, tonight we shall all dine together.”

Jane managed to stop herself looking desperately to Sigyn for help. Instead, she turned to her as calmly as she could and asked, “Will you be alright here on your own?”

Sigyn nodded. There was something behind the gesture that Jane couldn’t identify – sometimes she forgot how brief her acquaintance with Sigyn actually was – but she couldn’t ask about it in front of Thor.

“Of course,” Sigyn replied. “If anything, a bit of time to think everything over would be good. You two go; I’ll see you at dinner.”

Jane nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath. She wouldn’t be cowed by Odin; let him do his worst. 

*

When she was sure Jane and Thor were gone, Sigyn slipped out of the room.             


	8. The Relic Behind Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think that prison would guarantee Loki some peace and quiet. He should be so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry the update schedule has fallen apart so badly. I'm just in multiple messes at the moment, none of which are to do with the fic, so you have the reassurance that I am still interested in it and still writing it and it will keep appearing, but it could be pretty slowed down for a while because writing time is still hard to come by (honestly, if it were up to me I would be writing WAY more). I'm sorry :( Hoping things ease up soon so I can write faster!
> 
> Warnings: grief

> For never can true reconcilement grow
> 
> Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep
> 
> _Paradise Lost,_ John Milton

 

“You look positively _gormless_.”

“How could you do this, Loki?”

“You’re going to need to be more specific.”

There was no difference in his posture between sitting on the throne and sitting on the couch in this cell. The magnificence seemed lost on Thor.

“I thought you were dead. You let me believe you were dead.”

“Was it not better that way?”

Thor’s face was so wonderfully plastic. “You know what it is to suffer loss, and you chose to inflict that on me again! I thought on Svartalfheim...”

“You thought _what_? That there was some beautiful moment of brotherly bonding? And what was the culmination of that, the crowning glory? Oh yes: _you believed me dead_. So much easier to think fondly of the family taint when he’d breathed his last, wasn’t it? _It was better that way_.”

“Do you truly believe I would want you dead?”

“Have you forgotten our last conversation in these dungeons?”

“I have never wished you dead. However far you have fallen—”

“Oh yes, that’s what I do, isn’t it? Fall. Fall from favour, fall from grace, fall from the bloody Bifrost!”

“Loki, why? Why must you persist in this?”

He shrugged. “I’m the villain of the story; it’s what I do.”

“ _Enough,_ Loki!” Well _that_ was unexpected. He looked so... tired. Rather like Odin. “I cannot keep doing this. I never wanted you dead. I mourned for you. _Again._ Whether you choose to believe it or not. But I cannot keep playing this game. And it is all a game to you. So I’m done. If that is the victory you wanted, congratulations.”

And then Thor was gone and he was alone.

He set his jaw. Told himself this was typical. Squashed the emotion rising like bile as best he could. He debated casting the illusion he used to calm himself before sleep, but bringing it down here seemed somehow to sully it. He lounged in silence for a long time, roaming his own thoughts – avoiding some.

And then there were footsteps that did not fit the guards’ pattern.

He looked up lazily, maintaining a disinterested air as they stopped outside his cell.

My but she did have a nasty habit of surprising him.

He swung round to sit facing her as he challenged, “Come to gawk at the creature behind the glass, hmm? That great Midgardian tradition of the zoo.”

“I came to speak with you, actually.”

Sigyn, he had to admit, had remarkable posture. He could see in her eyes she was uncertain, but her spine was flawlessly straight.

“The dungeons are hardly the place for an honoured guest. What clandestine obsession brings you to my door?”

He’d hoped to shake her, but the corner of her mouth simply lifted slightly and she huffed out a breath. He swore he saw her actually bite back the words _you don’t have a door._

“You seemed to think there was something going on based on my name. That there was some plot against you. The Norns told me it’s just a coincidence, my being called Sigyn. I wasn’t sure if anyone would tell you, so I came down to do it.”

“All the way down here just for that? How very _generous._ ”

“You don’t believe me,” she stated.

“I do not.”

“It really _is_ a coincidence.”

“And that really is why you came down here?”

She made a sound that might have been a laugh. Something had shaken her upstairs, he decided. But why had it driven her here?

Maintaining eye contact, she asked, “Could you say why you went to look at that painting? Or did you just... do it?”

He leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I was _King._ Usurped by perfidy or not, I owe you no explanations.”

“Are regents not a thing here?”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, in such a way that implied it really ought to be her begging his pardon.

“Where I’m from, if the king were too sick to rule and the prince took over, he wouldn’t become king but prince regent. Do you not have that category here?”

He stared hard at her, wondering if he could make her run, or at least shrink under his gaze. But though she clearly felt his scrutiny, that upright posture remained. He rose fluidly from the couch. She watched him calmly. He moved slowly to the glass, shoulders thrown back. Still she did not flinch. This trick had worked before on a stronger target, though.

“I will _not_ answer your _inane_ questions!” He punctuated his speech by slamming his fist on the glass. The magic reverberated through it, creating a sound even more ferocious than the boom he’d created in the flying fortress. Her jolt was _delightful._

But then she exhaled slowly, her shoulders lowering back into that impeccable posture.

“That was unnecessary.”

He was torn between being angered by her impertinence and amused by it. And the look she was giving him now... was that curiosity? Calculation?    

She was talking again, off on some new point: “But you do understand the distinction? How do you all speak English?”

He blinked at her, quickly morphing it into a look of disdain. “I do not _speak English_. Asgardians speak the All-Tongue. It enables us to be understood by whatever being we are addressing, and to understand what they say to us.”

“That can’t possibly work.”

“Forgive me, I had no idea I had been paid a visit by an expert in inter-realm linguistics.”

“No but seriously, translation cannot possibly be that precise!”

“Perhaps not in your absurd Midgardian dialects.”

“How do puns work?”

“What?”

“Puns. If I said that an assassin is paid with ‘guilt of conscience’...?”

“For the usual pantomime standards of Midgard, that’s almost intelligent.”

“But how are you hearing that! It doesn’t work, it’s language dependent, it...” She seemed genuinely at a loss.

He tilted his head back slightly. “So typically Midgardian, all inconsistency and pig-headedness. You cannot accept that language could function beyond your own feeble understanding, yet are convinced something as monumental as a nominative connection is a mere coincidence.”

_That_ , of all the darts he’d thrown, hit home. Interested, he watched her nostrils flare and her fists clench. Sensitive about her little human community, eh?

Then she looked up at him with a slight smile and said, “Well, it seems you will answer some of my _inane_ questions.”

He was wrongfooted, but just for a beat. “Now I understand your being here: you are my punishment.”

“I just came to tell you that no one’s setting some sort of trap for you, or whatever you thought was going on. If you don’t believe me, there’s not a lot I can do, but I _am_ telling the truth.”

“And you have delivered your message. Yet you are still here, tormenting me.”

She held up her hands. “Alright, alright, I’ll go.”

“As you seem unable to properly justify why you came here in the first place, that would be advisable.” He made a shooing gesture for good measure.

Leaning against the glowing yellow screen, he watched her make her way out of the prison. When she got to the bottom of the staircase, she turned back and, even over all that distance, looked him dead in the eye. She held his gaze for the time it took him to inhale and exhale twice over, and then she turned and slipped up the stairs.

_Mortals. They’re as bad as moths, flitting about like that._

Loki pushed off the glowing wall and returned to the couch. Sullying be damned, he needed an escape from this place.

He leant back and let the prison melt with a green-edged glow into a perfect reproduction of the Queen’s suite. The cell’s couch he sat on transformed into one of Frigga’s elegant chaise-longues in the entertaining room, the one that gave him a perfect view into the study where he could see her, lit by soft candlelight, gently smiling as she read over something she’d written.

It was a meticulously calculated illusion. He could never communicate with her authentically – his illusions couldn’t come up with their own conversation, they were just products of his own mind, after all, so it was either talking to himself through her or rehashing a real conversation he had had with her when she was alive – so he’d come up with a setting where he could just watch her, serene and perfect and _safe._ Where she belonged. _Alive._  

The familiar swell of emotions washed over him. The only sound was the fire crackling and Frigga’s gentle humming from the adjoining room. And then there was another noise, a soft rustle, like something moving next to him.

He looked to the source of the noise and abruptly reared up, causing the illusion to disintegrate instantly with another green flash.

She was gone, but she’d been there. She’d been there, and he hadn’t put here there.

Sigyn, sat next to him on the couch, smiling away as she watched him watch his mother.

_That bitch._

Whatever arcane magic she was using on him, he would find it out. And he would make her regret it for the rest of her measly life.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and sorry again for the huge delay! Thank you to everyone who's left a comment, they really keep me going <3
> 
> The line Sigyn alludes to as a pun example is from Richard II.
> 
> I've just gone back and added warnings to every chapter. I am so sorry, I should have done that to start with. Please let me know if you think there are any warnings that should be added!


	9. Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin has to apologise, even if he hates it. Sigyn can't stay away from Loki, even if she hates it. Oh, and being a vegetarian on Asgard sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry the whole update process just shut down. Finding time to write has been really tough, plus some serious self-doubt about this fic has made it harder to sit down when there has occasionally been time, but people seem to like it so trying to stick with it. Hope you enjoy the chapter at last <3
> 
> Also it has been criminal that I have not yet publicly thanked my beta pulverisedrock, she is the best and I'd probably get this done even slower if not for her reassurances! <3 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> violence, strangulation, stabbing, death, murder, shock

 

> your body
> 
> is a museum
> 
> of natural disasters
> 
> can you grasp how
> 
> stunning that is
> 
> Rupi Kaur

 

Asgardians did not, generally speaking, believe in ghosts. Almost everyone believed you could be guided by someone’s spirit, but ghosts as such were scoffed at as Midgardian nonsense. But the concept was oddly apt to how Frigga seemed to her husband now: her absence so tangible she was almost present, yet ever out of reach.

The Odinsleep always provided new wisdom. This time, the lessons had been hard.

He had failed Frigga in letting her die. He had failed her again in succumbing to the violence and rage she had always tempered in him. 

Violence and rage were why he’d felt he had to tell Loki he would have been killed were it not for Frigga. He hadn’t been able to kill him when he was his enemy’s wailing alien baby; he could never do it now he was his own son. But it was simply the newest in a long line of comforting lies Odin told himself.

The first lie (or, more accurately, the first about Loki – there had been endless lies before that), when he brought the infant home wrapped up in his own cloak, had been that the child’s innate magical ability suggested promise that could not be wiped out. Frigga had simply raised an eyebrow at him.

The next lie, which he’d had to work hard to make himself believe, was that the runt left to die had a serious claim to the Jotun throne, and hence keeping him and raising him with Thor would one day ensure a lasting peace. Frigga had simply looked at him long and hard and then turned her gaze to the two boys – Thor, still an infant but now chubby and very mobile, was enthusiastically waving a toy snake at Loki because it made him laugh.

It had always been easier to spin himself complicated stories than to admit to his own complexities and inconsistencies and failings.  

But no more.

Frigga, the Odinsleep had told him, was never gone as long as he upheld her in what he did. So be it. He had spoken with the Norns. Plans were percolating. Frigga would guide him.

But it wasn’t easy. He kept having to _apologise_.

*

When she’d left the Allfather’s presence, desperately trying to process how really, really _weird_ all of this was, Jane had been directed to a dining room. _A_ dining room as in _one of a number of dining rooms. Freaking Asgard._ This one was cosy, with a log fire and a table that could seat six people, and currently just had Thor and Sigyn at one end. A place was set for Jane between them at the head of the table. Thor was speaking and Sigyn was looking at him intently. Jane wasn’t sure what he was saying, but she heard Loki’s name.

“Jane!” Thor called when he saw her, standing up to gallantly pull out her chair. Although she wasn’t sure if that counted as gallant here or just standard practice.

“How was your talk with Odin?” Sigyn asked.

“He... apologised to me.”

Thor looked downright shocked before bursting into a (still shocked, if she were honest) smile. He looked like he needed to smile. She’d try and speak to him alone before they went off to bed (separately – Jane was in a guest room) and ask him what his brother had said. Probably nothing good.

They settled down to eat. The first part of the meal was taken up with Sigyn awkwardly trying to explain vegetarianism to first one very confused server, then two, then a chef.

“But madam, this is from the finest cows on Vanaheim, imported especially for the royal table!”

“I’m really sorry, but like I told the waiters, the animal being fine doesn’t encourage me to eat it...”

“But _why_?”

She was fighting to keep calm as she said, as politely as she could for the third time, “Because I don’t believe putting animals through pain so we can eat them is justified.”

“But it’s what they’re _for_!”

Sigyn, the two servers and the chef all looked helplessly at Thor.

“Can’t you just get her some extra vegetables?”

Jane had to admit that watching Sigyn pick her way through the most mismatched salad she’d ever seen (if it could even be called that) did loosen some of the stress from round her shoulders.

*

The next time she came to see him, he was waiting for her. She wondered how long he’d been waiting; it was a full day since she’d been down that first time. He was stalking the confined space of the cell like a caged predator. Of course, that was exactly what he was, and she was mad for coming. She knew it. She came anyway.

After the debacle of attempting to explain vegetarianism to determinedly carnivorous aliens, Sigyn had barely contributed to the conversation at dinner. Back in her room, she’d received a lesson in all the strange features of the typical Asgardian guest room. She’d tossed and turned in the absurdly huge bed they’d given her that night. In the morning, she’d tentatively bathed in the enormous bath with all the strange taps and bottles around it. She’d ranged the parts of the palace they’d been told they were free to go and whiled away the time waiting for her appointed meeting with Odin. She had done it all whilst racking her brains as to exactly _why_ she’d gone down to see him, and why she yearned to go back. She had no answer. He was beautiful, she wasn’t going to deny that, but the stupid crush should have died the moment she realised he was a mass-murdering megalomaniac. And yet here she was, like a moth to a flame, like she just couldn’t stay away.

He stopped pacing as she reached the forcefield thing at the front of his cell. They stood facing each other for a suspended moment, his hands behind his back and his expression cold. He held her captive in his gaze.

She held up the copy of _King Lear_ she’d brought like a peace offering. “I brought you something.”

“I don’t want any of your cursed tomes,” he spat.

_Yeah, great idea coming back down here, Sigyn._

“It’s not cursed. Excuse me for thinking you might appreciate something to read.”

His nostrils flared slightly. She wondered for the briefest moment if she’d unwittingly found a chink in his armour, but in the next instant his lip curled and he was back in control, hissing, “Tell me what you did.”

“What?”

“What dark magic have you woven, you vile mortal witch?”

“I told you the last time, there’s nothing going on here! I’m just trying to give you a book because I thought you might find it interesting.”

His mouth was open to spit more venom at her when, viper-like, his gaze snapped to look in the direction she’d come from. She looked round. Half a dozen guards were moving towards her with great purpose.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out. Technically no one had said she _couldn’t_ be here, but nor had it been on the list of approved locations. And common sense, really... She was definitely in trouble. And before she’d even met Odin.

Except... the guards weren’t even looking at her. They were looking at Loki.

“What do you want?” he demanded of them as they marched onwards.

“You were warned, traitor: there is nowhere you are safe from His wrath.”

Sigyn’s head whipped round to Loki in confusion just in time to see raw fear in his eyes. She wouldn’t have thought he could look afraid. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a singular mix of rage and calculation.

They’d almost reached Sigyn now, and finally registered her, all their eyes flicking to her briefly at the same moment as the one in front, the one who’d already spoken, barked, “Get rid of the witness.”

Then everything was happening at once. One guard seized hold of her throat, lifted and squeezed, cutting off her breathing. Another smashed his fist into the panel on the wall and the glowing yellow shield fizzed and disintegrated, throwing sparks over them. Loki was moving so fast he was a blur. The guards were trying to trap him in. Then the guard squeezing her throat seemed to grow tired of how long it was taking for her to die; he thrust a sword into her belly.

The next thing Sigyn knew, there was a bright flash of light and she was somehow on her feet, knees jarred. The guard was crashing to the ground several feet away from her. Splintered pieces of his sword rained down around him.

She was glowing. It was the same light as before, but all of her, not just a single point. She put her hands to her stomach. Not a mark. Nothing but a tiny hole in her top.

Her head was still spinning. Blood was pounding in her ears. And she was experiencing some kind of synaesthesia, because her overwhelming sense was of _blue._ There was _blue_ somewhere off behind her, pulsing to the rhythm of her thumping heart.

She turned slowly, her own time seeming to run at a difference pace to everything around her. Loki was more or less holding off the guards unarmed, but they were blocking the only exit and his magic still seemed to be restrained. As she watched, the guards seemed to finally manage a successfully co-ordinated attack, two demanding Loki fight them off at once as another two lunged at the precise moment his defence required him block his two attackers to pin his arms. He flailed against them, but could not break out. He was snarling like an animal, face distorted with fury.

“Where is the space stone?” one of the guards was shouting.

She reached out without thinking. It was a stupid, hopeless action she had no control over. She just wanted them to stop.

Her hand, held out in space, stretched out towards them, opened, fingers splayed. She had no words to make them stop. She did not need them.

In one movement, the guards’ heads all jolted backwards. There was a chorus of sickening snaps. And then they all collapsed like marionettes whose strings had been cut.

Her hand was still held out stupidly. The glow was slowly fading from her skin.

Loki was looking at her. She couldn’t read his expression. She couldn’t take her eyes off the guards on the floor. They no longer looked like guards; they had become green and scaly with pointed ears. They didn’t move. Loki took a brief moment to kick the nearest one experimentally, then reached down to check for a pulse. That done, he crossed the space of the cell in long strides, stepping over the bodies without even looking at them.

She lowered her arm slowly. She felt sick.

He’d reached her now. It was only when he carefully put his hands on her elbows that she realised her knees had been on the point of giving out. She grabbed hold of us his upper arms as she sagged, looking wildly up into his face.

“Now how did you do that?” His voice was incredibly soft.

She managed to croak out, “Did I... are they...”

“Dead? Yes. I take it you have never killed before?”

She shook her head. She wanted, with a mad desperation, for him to tell her that this wasn’t happening.

“And I take it you have no desire nor intention of doing that again?”

She shook her head more forcefully, fingers grasping at his jacket. She managed to rasp out a “no”, the sound distorting horribly as it left her throat.

“There’s a good girl,” he said, still so softly. Then he lowered her to the ground. He could have moved her more slowly – as it was he seemed to neatly fold her so she was kneeling then rapidly stepped away – but equally he could have just let go and she’d have simply collapsed.

And then he was gone, moving swiftly down the length of the corridor. Sigyn didn’t seem able to concentrate on anything. She saw the copy of _King Lear_ crumpled on the floor a foot or so away from her. She reached out to pick it up. Her movements weren’t quite right, her hands shaking. She cradled the book in her lap. The blue was a soft hum now, fading away. Nothing felt quite real. _This_ was being in shock.

She heard an exclamation from some distance away: “Fandral!”

Her gaze moved sluggishly to see a blond man with a highly manicured moustache backing Loki down the corridor again, flanked by a large number of guards.

“I was going to find you. There was an attempted attack. I am lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, Loki, going for help, of course you were.” Then he spotted Sigyn crumpled on the floor. “What’s the Midgardian guest doing here?”

“Making up for your guards’ incompetence, it would seem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, really sorry that updates are gonna be erratic - I'm still getting used to my work schedule. I'll post as often as I can! Also, every time the self-doubt gets to me with writing I remember the lovely comments people have left, so I really appreciate receiving those, they keep me going <3 and you're always welcome to interact with me at someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com if you have questions, comments or just want to chat!


	10. Fettered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Loki and Sigyn are going to be seeing a lot more of each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the slowness of updates. My deadlines have just been so on top of me lately I haven't been able to get much time to write anything creative. I'm very much hoping I'll be able to get more frequent updates going soon, because I'd really like to get back to writing as a relaxation! Also I just want to keep this fic moving, I'm sorry I've been leaving you all hanging! I hope this chapter makes up for it!  
> When this fic emerged as a plot from its embryonic stage as just an idea for Sigyn as a character, reincorporating one particular detail from the comics was a big thing for me. If you know the comics at all, hope this is a bit of fun for you! If not, don't worry, it will make sense without!  
> As always, huge thanks to pulverisedrock for being an amazing beta <3 
> 
> Warnings for grief and death, and allusion to Loki's torture.

 

> Yet chains in hell, not realms expect
> 
> _Paradise Lost,_ John Milton

The Midgardian witch had looked awful as they were trooped out of the cells, ashen and ill-balanced, but she had been firm that she be taken to the Norns. She had glanced back at him as Sif took her arm.

He was asked the same questions over and over. Who were they? Who did they work for? What did they want? He suspected they kept asking the questions because they did not believe him. But why would he lie about _that_? Servants of the Mad Titan. Thanos. The Tesseract. And they also probably wanted to... do to him what they had done to him _then_. And so he told the truth. Odin, in this unique scenario, was the lesser of two evils.

Throughout the interrogation he did his best not to appear agitated, not to let anyone know that he had been affected. When he was left alone with Thor in an antechamber between the dungeons and the castle proper, however, it became clear he may not have done quite as good a job as he would have liked.

“Loki,” he began, and Loki rolled his eyes. _More_ questions? Thor had been utterly silent throughout his interrogation – what had he been dwelling on? Would he want to know what Sigyn was doing outside his cell? How was he supposed to know? Thor was the one who liked messing around with mortals. If anyone could make sense of their absurd caprices it should be him, not Loki.

He was unprepared for Thor’s actual next words: “What happened?”

“I have explained several times already. If you are in need of corroboration, then your Jane Foster’s infuriating friend —”

“No, not just now. I meant,” he drew a breath, “I meant in between you letting yourself fall from the Bifrost and trying to conquer Midgard.”

Loki’s throat was suddenly so dry his words were all ash.

Thor’s hand was on his shoulder. The gentleness felt so unfamiliar, but it had always been like this, before. Loki wanted at once to reject the touch as violently as possible, to throw Thor bodily from him, and to keep his hand there, to keep the caring touch, the touch that inflicted no pain. As Thor looked at him, he was making that face, eyes a mix of earnestness and sorrow and hope and the desire to fix everything. The universe’s intrepid, princely handyman, complete with hammer.

“How did you know them, Loki? What happened? To you? What did they do?”

Loki found his voice, thought it didn’t sound quite as smooth as normal. “You never cared before. Only when it is those you _truly_ care for who are in danger —”

“I have always cared.” In the time since his banishment, Thor had made great strides in reining in his anger. Loki almost couldn’t detect the bitten back _You just refuse to see it._  

“You left me to rot in prison.” An admirable deflection, Loki thought.

“Father forbade visitors.”

“And you have such a phenomenal record of obedience to _Daddy_.”

“I was worried if he found out I had been to see you then it would be harder for Mother to do so. I knew it was more important that you could see her than me. I didn’t want to jeopardise that.”

Loki only scoffed in response. His words had dried up again. They sat in silence, Thor’s hand gone from Loki’s shoulder but his eyes always looking imploringly at him, until Loki was called before the Allfather.

Sigyn stood awkwardly at the foot of the steps leading to the throne. If anything, she looked even worse than before.

“My sons. I have come to a verdict.”

His bound hands clenched behind his back and he thrust his chin upwards, smiling in challenge.

“Loki, I have assigned you a guard until such time as you are deemed safe.”

He sneered. “Surely Thor has not agreed —”

“Father, I accept.”

“No, not Thor. Her.”

Sigyn stepped forward.

“You cannot possibly mean to —”

“Sigyn has agreed to it. Very generously, given your crimes against her home.”  

“Her insanity is surely her issue!”

“What would you prefer, Loki? The dungeons? The Isle of Silence?”

He closed his eyes in an effort to regain composure.

“You’re willingly putting one of your beloved mortals in the way of the Mad Titan. He will not be dissuaded.”

“Sigyn will be quite safe. As will you. We have additional security measures in place.”

“They won’t mean anything, not with Him. You weren’t prepared for Malekith, and compared to him —”

“Enough!” It was the closest Odin had come to sounding like his old self. “We have learned from our errors. And besides, Sigyn proved herself more than capable of dispatching your attackers.”

Loki noticed Sigyn flinch very slightly.

He sighed. It was the closest he would come to acknowledging the truth of the statement. He supposed for the moment the mortal was his best option. She clearly had some sort of ability which he might be able to manipulate to his benefit, and then when the time was right he would give her the slip.

“But I will have free rein of the palace, as long as she’s guarding me? I will not be caged or locked away?”

“You will be placed in guest accommodation rather than your own rooms. You will be allowed movement within Asgard, but not to go off-world. And at all times you will be chained to Sigyn.”

“ _Chained?_ ”

“To me, yes.”

She seemed steadier now, looking straight at him. She held up a simple pair of handcuffs joined by a very slender chain. It looked as though it would snap the instant any pressure was applied. But he could just make out runes inscribed across the metal and he could feel the low thrum of magic reverberating from them.  

Loki sighed. “If you must.”

Thor silently unbound Loki’s current restraints. Loki could not see his face, and he wondered how he was taking this. Surely even Thor realised this was absurd. Odin seemed to have gone completely mad at last.

He held out his hands with affected disinterest. Her fingers were very gentle as she slipped the cuff over his wrist and fastened it. Her gaze was fixed on the task. She attached the other cuff to her own wrist, over a silver bracelet that was already there. The cuff and chain vanished instantly. On Loki’s wrist the cuff remained. He tugged experimentally. It was like trying to lift Mjolnir. He could get nowhere. Sigyn tugged in response and Loki’s hand was pulled along after her.

“Sigyn controls the chain’s length and motion,” the Allfather said. “It has no material presence, can pass through objects, but you will be unable to get away from her.”

“Ingenious.”

Across the now invisible chain, Sigyn met his eyes.

 

“This door only locks and unlocks from the other side,” Sigyn said from the door which adjoined their new rooms.

Loki, reclining on the bed that was to be his for the foreseeable future, replied, “These rooms were intended for visiting dignitaries and their consorts. You have the dignitary’s room. It gives free access to this room and its occupant without any possible prohibition.”

Sigyn made a loud noise of disgust.

Letting his head fall back against the pillows, Loki concluded: “I am entirely at your mercy.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“And yet here I am in chains.”

He wanted to decipher the witch, work out what her intentions were and how he fitted in. He was more than capable of playing a long game, but patience was not something he enjoyed depending upon. Easier to just goad her until she made a mistake, as she inevitably would. And he had a real knack for goading.

“I’m stuck here too,” she said. “And unlike you, I didn’t try and wipe out a race or take over a planet or kill anyone or let people who cared about me think I was dead —”

He inspected his cuff. “You would count _that_ on my list of crimes? Truly? That hardly merits. And your tabulation is rather lacking. I’ve done a great many more awful things than that paltry list.”

“Do you not feel sorry at all?”

“Only that I failed.” A half-truth. He saw how it cut her. Good. “You think me a monster? Odin may wish to pretend otherwise when it suits him, but he is no different. The lives of your people are, and always have been, utterly expendable to us. Your lives are _nothing_.”

She flinched violently. He had expected some display of her powers, but none came. Interesting.

She was holding back tears. There was nothing especially strange about that; Midgardian emotions were so volatile and simplistic. But after a deep, shaking breath, she shocked him yet again.

“I threw my lot in with you because I believed, hell, still believe, for whatever ridiculous, nonsensical, instinctive reason, that you are not, deep down, a bad person. Odin said you’d been hurt very, very badly. And I believe that. But that doesn’t mean you get a carte-blanche to hurt anyone else. Right now, you are being a complete and utter arse. And you need to stop being an arse, because we’re stuck with each other, and I am trying to help you. So, when you’re ready to apologise, I’ll be on the balcony.”

_She... did she just...? How dare she...?!_

Loki openly gaped at her as she walked out to the balcony with an impressive degree of dignity.

He took a steadying breath and set about analysing her reaction. It took him a moment to get over the sheer impertinence of her speech, but he found something both useful to him and _delicious_ in her reaction. She _believed_ in him, she said; she didn’t think he was a _bad_ person, just _hurt_. She wanted to _help_ him.

He was quite sure that that was her muddled interpretation of a desire to fuck him. And Loki could _always_ work with that.

Strategy in place, he followed her out onto the balcony.

He had to credit her planning. The balcony was a neutral area, accessible from both their rooms. She had not retreated entirely from his space, not surrendered, but she had made him come to her. He could admire her diplomacy, safe in the knowledge that he was by far her superior.

“You are not upset because of my actions alone,” he said softly, sitting down on the patio chair beside the one she was slumped in.

“Apologies usually contain the word ‘sorry’. Try again.”

She had clearly cried more when she had been alone.

“My apologies, Sigyn.”

“That’s not quite the same, is it?” She was smiling wearily at him now.

“Why have you been crying?”

She sighed. “Fine. I suppose one of us has to make the effort. Those... whatever-they-weres. The things that... attacked you. They said they were looking for the Space Stone. And I was sure, absolutely sure – I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? – that if there’s a Space Stone, there’s a Time Stone, too.”

They struck him as strange thoughts to have in the wake of all that had happened. And she was unquestionably rambling, which seemed to be a nasty habit of hers. He said nothing.

“So I went to the Norns and asked them if that were true. And it is. I wanted to know if I could use it. If I could use the Time Stone to change what happened. But I can’t. Apparently it doesn’t work like that.”

“What were you hoping to change?”

She was no longer looking at him. She was looking down to her hands in her lap, held at an odd angle so each hand could grip the opposite wrist, fingers curling around the silver bracelets she wore. “I wanted to stop my brother dying.”

Loki paused. Then he laid his hand over hers.

*

You couldn’t be called Sigyn without Loki looming large in your life. She supposed that, in a muddled, childish, innocent way, she’d had a crush on her idea of Loki, scraped together from books and things her mother said, for most of the early part of her life. It had been her own private joke, when she first understood what it was to be bisexual and that that word described her, that it was hardly a surprise – Loki, fluid as the wind, had been her first love, after all.

But she had been very young then, and this Loki was not the Loki of myth.  

She hoped that it wasn’t the memory of that fantasy mythical Loki that made her want to help this man who shared his name. Or the fact that she found him attractive. (Because he was attractive. Impossibly so.) She didn’t think that was why she cared – it certainly wouldn’t be like her – but she couldn’t identify exactly why she did.

Standing before the Allfather, freshly broken after what the Norns had told her about the Time Stone, he had asked her what had happened in the dungeons. He had been informed by others, but he wanted to hear it direct from her. He had seemed greatly interested in the blue she recounted overwhelming her senses.

Then he had told her frankly what his ideal solution to the Loki problem was.

“I would have you act as his guard. But I leave that decision to you.”

She had looked at him with such unconcealed shock she had expected him to say something in response, but he merely looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

“Why?” had been all she could think to say.

The Allfather sighed. “I have asked myself what Frigga, my wife, would have advised. When last we found ourselves confronted with the issue of sentencing Loki, she told me he needed to find his way back into the light. It was something he must do himself, she said, but he would need help. Fool that I was, I did not listen to her.”

“And you want me to help? Why? I don’t even know him! Why not you? Why not his brother?”

“I have deceived my son; he will not trust me, not yet. I fear it is only what I deserve. Thor loves Loki, but he is still coming to terms with the fact he did not know his brother as well as he believed he did. He is still reeling from that. But you offer something quite unique. I would ask you to act as his keeper.”

“Why?”

“Why were you in the dungeons with him at all, Sigyn Incantation-Fetter?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.” She knew it sounded stupid, but sometimes the truth did.

“Loki is weak in ways he will not acknowledge. He is also good in ways he does not realise. But I think, perhaps, you seen that.”

And then Odin had begun a persuasive portrait of Loki as troubled and in need of help. He had told her of Loki’s origins, his discovery of what he was – a Frost Giant, seen as monsters by the Asgardians – and of what he believed he would never be – King, and, in his own mind, Thor’s equal in the eyes of Asgard. He told her Loki saw himself as both god and monster. His ego was a complex, damaged thing; his mind even more so. 

He’d also not sugar-coated the fact that Loki had done awful, awful things, and he could not go unpunished. He had claimed he did not want to pressure Sigyn into a decision, but he truly did not know what else could be done with Loki.

“To send Loki to the Isle of Silence would be a cruelty even I – and I have, in my time, been very cruel – would flinch at. There is no sound there. There is nothing. A living death. But I do not know what else to do.”

It was blatant emotional manipulation. In another life, the Allfather would have made an excellent salesman.

“What do I need to do?”

“Guard him. Stay here, on Asgard, for a time. Take on Loki's chains with him. It is no small task. This is what I would ask of you. What you _need_ to do, only you can know.”

“For how long?”

“Until he is safe to return to Midgard.”

And Sigyn accepted. Without quite believing it, without knowing how to feel about it, knowing it was madness, she accepted. It didn't feel like much of a choice, really.

She wanted to believe Loki had a good heart. She wanted to help him. She wanted, probably for her own confused reasons, to fix things between him and his brother.

But she also couldn’t deny the hitch in her pulse when his hand touched hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the comics, Loki and Sigyn get chained together. This just fascinates me as an idea. So here we are! As always, you can find me on someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com if you want to send asks or anything!


	11. Growing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long! I did post on tumblr explaining, but I am here now! Thank you so much for sticking with me <3  
> As always, so much love to pulverisedrock for betaing for me!

> these fallen hazel-nuts,           
> 
> stripped late of their green sheaths,   
> 
> grapes, red-purple,             
> 
> their berries    
> 
> dripping with wine,    
> 
> pomegranates already broken,           
> 
> and shrunken figs       
> 
> and quinces untouched,                 
> 
> I bring you as offering.
> 
> ‘Orchard’, _H.D._

Thor came to see him that evening. The witch had retreated to her room to go to bed (rather grim-faced; such emotion over the few she had killed), and Loki had been about to turn in for the night too when there was a knock at the room’s main door.

“Loki?”

“The prisoner is indeed here.”

He had that utterly Thor look on his face again when he entered. Did the man not understand that some things could not be fixed?

Thor spoke immediately, as though he’d been rehearsing these few words the whole way to Loki’s room: “I wanted to tell you that if you ever want to talk – about anything – I’m here. I’ll listen.”

“We do not _talk_ ,” Loki said with disdain, inspecting the cuff on his wrist.

“We used to. In the time – times – I thought you dead... I often found myself thinking of what had been. I regret losing your trust. I don’t think you realised, but there were times I was very jealous of you. Something went wrong somewhere, for both of us.”

When Loki offered no response, Thor spoke again, a sincerity Loki had heard before but would not let himself be won over by: “I am sorry.”

“So what you in fact meant was, _you_ wanted to talk _at me_ , to assuage your guilt for the monster your former playfellow turned out to be?”

He shook his head forcefully. “I meant what I said. But it seemed pointless to offer to talk with all of that unsaid.”

“I am not inclined to talk to you at all. Are you quite finished?”

“Yes.” He had apparently not given up hope. His gaze was intense, steady. Loki wasn’t as sure how to handle this more mature Thor as he had been the hot-headed youth. Another topic he would have to dwell upon.

“Good. Good night.” He ushered Thor out of the door and shut it behind him in much the way one would put an animal outside.

He heard the heavy sigh from behind the door, then the sound of Thor departing.

He insisted to himself that he felt nothing but irritation at the interruption to his nightly rituals, and almost believed it.    

 

Loki had a plan for the following morning. He needed to get a better understanding of the witch’s intentions and capabilities. What he had discerned last night suggested that she might be trying to entangle him in some way, which was consistent with whatever vile enchantment she’d put on him to usurp his illusion, but her method of doing so seemed to lack cohesion or forethought. Lorelei had always favoured flattery, trying to string him along and then coyly pulling back. Her manipulation was easy to spot because it followed a formula. Sigyn, on the other hand, seemed to have a whole, consistent character of entirely unextraordinary Midgardian, blundering about and demanding apologies and accountability, yet at the same time she worked strange magics he himself couldn’t understand and feigned ignorance of them. Her desire for him he was sure he could use to help him escape, but he couldn’t formulate a plot whilst she was such an unknown quantity. A little research was necessary.

She answered quickly when he knocked on the door that joined their rooms. She looked as though she hadn’t slept well. My but things did weigh on her.

“I thought perhaps you would like to see the gardens?”

She gave him an assessing look, clearly trying to work out what he had planned. At length she took his proffered arm.

He led her down through the palace to the gardens and steered her across the open lawn to his mother’s private garden. His gaze wandered to the statue that he, as Odin, had erected of Frigga. It was life-sized, made of marble with the lightest blue tone.  

“Is that your mother?”

He opened his mouth, two conflicting answers, both true, on his tongue.

“Yes.”

“It’s a lovely tribute.”

He let his arm slip from her hold. “This was her garden. She planted and tended to everything here herself.”

Watching Sigyn from the corner of his eye, he held out his palm to a vivid bud on the nearest bush. As soon as his skin made contact with it, the bud sprang to life. A flower shaped like a little jester, a stem sprouting from its hat, did an enthusiastic dance in his hand. Sigyn gasped audibly and let out a delighted laugh as the flower concluded its dance with a surprisingly grave bow.

Loki’s own reaction had been very similar when his mother had shown him the plant when he was a child. She had determinedly grown it because it was, in her words, “joyfully frivolous”. Asgard had no time for dancing flowers; she would grow them to spite it. It was one of the few things over which Loki could remember Thor very overtly siding with him and not his other comrades in arms; Thor, too, was enchanted by the flowers.

“Will it do it for me?” Sigyn asked.

“Without a doubt – they love attention. Try that bud.” He indicated one nearer to her. She obligingly held her hand out under it to give it a stage, and it unfurled into a delicate dancer, petals forming a floating skirt, which twirled and spun in her palm.

He moved her around the garden, telling her about the various plants, giving her warning of what she must not touch (the Queen had grown some potent things) and pointing out things she should – a tree which giggled when tickled, roses that changed colour when you stroked them, dangling bell-shaped flowers that all looked identical but each made a different clanging or tinkling sound (Sigyn had attempted to play a tune she said was called ‘Oranges and Lemons’, though she’d been so laughably bad at it that he had no idea what the song truly sounded like). She seemed slightly less troubled, at least for the moment. At last they came to a trellised archway with dense vines climbing it.

“Run your fingers along that vine,” he advised, leaning close to her ear. He’d been maintaining a delicate balance of closeness and distance, intimacy and reserve, all morning.  

She did as he said. Of course she did; he had demonstrated his commitment to showing her interesting plants and protecting her from dangerous ones for well over an hour.

He was inordinately satisfied by her squawk as the vine snapped out and lashed itself about her arm.

“What? Loki! Get it off!”

“What spell did you cast on me?”

She struggled against the plant’s obstinate hold of her as she snapped back, “I haven’t cast any spell on you!”

Well that was unexpected.

She turned to look directly at him, still tugging at the vine gripping her. “What is this?”

“It’s a truth vine. It forces whomsoever it holds to tell the truth. Quite ingenious. And cruel. Fortunately, it only works if the interrogated touches it of their own free will – though they do not have to know what it is they are agreeing to touch.”

Sigyn’s mouth was a hard line. Without warning she jerked her free arm, tugging Loki off balance with the invisible chain that bound them together. Centuries of training enabled him to right himself almost instantly, but her point had been made.

“So now we’re both stuck here. What are you trying to do?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I would have thought that much was clear. I want answers.”

“How many times do I have to tell you –”

“The number is irrelevant if you lie to me each time.”

“You’re the God of Lies, can you really not tell I’m being honest without the help of a plant?”

“Where did you learn your sorcery?” he asked, flatly ignoring her impertinent question.

She made a high-pitched noise of exasperation. “I didn’t learn it. I just did it. I have innate powers these silver bands help me access. They were made specially for me. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen any more than you did; I’m just stuck in the middle of it. You probably don’t have YA fiction here so can’t appreciate how much this sounds like a clichéd plot device, but oh, trust me.”

Her gaze snapped back to the vine as a few of the loops about her arm fell away.

“And how did _you_ come by such great power?”

“Biology.” He saw how the word was forced from her. The vine did that, wrenched the reluctant truth out. He’d often wondered of late if Frigga had crafted the plant out of anger at Odin’s refusal to be honest with him about his true nature.

“I’m... not entirely human,” she went on. “I’m part _cosmic entity_.” She spoke the phrase with mocking gravitas. “Some _thing_ they needed to protect the Infinity Stones. Some... abilities come with that.”

He could see the anger in her eyes for thus forcing truth from her. Somewhere deep inside him, something tender and sentimental beneath the metal and leather and centuries of bitterness and deceit felt just the slightest tinge of remorse.

To spite that weak part of himself, he forged on: “And what is your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan! I told you, I’m caught up in this without meaning to be! I didn’t want you to get killed, and I thought I could help. There is no agenda, no plot, just me somehow involved in the worst family drama in the universe on this hellish planet, because I can’t stand to see siblings in this state and because I like you a lot more than I have reason to.”

She continued glaring at him as the vine released her.

*

Thor looked at Jane looking at the stars.

Things had not been going as he had wanted them to. He had never had any real interest in courtship in Asgard, let alone in learning about Midgardian courting conventions. What did Jane expect of him? He was no good at this sort of thing. It was so far beyond what he was used to. He had always been more interested in friendships than romances or dalliances. And his closest friend had always been his brother – a whole other painful issue.

He had wanted to introduce Jane to the Warriors Three and Sif. It had seemed sensible; she was important to him and so were they; incorporating Jane into his friendship group had seemed only natural. But his Asgardian friends had seemed flummoxed by Jane. She had been full of questions that repeatedly wrongfooted them, about gravitational forces and orbits and celestial bodies and movement through space and its effects on physiology. It was all second-nature to them; they didn’t know how to answer Jane’s questions and more than Darcy had been able to explain to him how her iPod did what it did.

It was absurd, under the circumstances, when there was so much else of more import in the matter, but Thor had found himself wishing he and Loki were still on good terms. Loki would have been snide about Jane needing questions answered, but he would have quickly lost that in his delight at showing off his knowledge. He reflected, not for the first time, how well Jane would have fitted into his family some years ago, before everything fell apart. But he hadn’t known her then; she had come with the falling.

Now, however, Jane seemed much happier. She and Heimdall were well-matched; his infinite sight paired well with her infinite curiosity. He was pointing out galaxies to her, describing their distances and star types, the bodies that orbited them and so on. Jane listened, rapt. Then she glanced back at Thor and smiled.

In spite of everything that was troubling him, Thor smiled back.

*

When Jane came into her room and saw Sif waiting for her, there was a solid chunk of time in which she thought she must be hallucinating.

“I’m sorry to surprise you like this,” Sif said as she eyed Jane’s startled expression, “but there was something I wanted to say to you.”

Jane felt the dread sink in her stomach at the same moment her defences rose. Whatever horrible thing Sif was going to say to her about her not being good enough for Thor, she wasn’t going to take it without fighting back (though hopefully not physically fighting – Sif towered over Jane). She was not prepared for Sif’s actual words: “I’ve been very unfair to you, and I think I’ve probably given you the impression I don’t like you.”

“Do you... not not like me?”

“I like you well enough. You seem very driven and determined. You stand up for yourself and others. You refuse to be cowed. Those are all qualities I respect.”

“But?”

Sif squared her shoulders. _Here it comes_ , Jane thought.

“There has been a burden of expectation for many centuries that Thor and I would one day wed. I am aware that my training as a warrior was tolerated at least in part because people see the benefits of a future Queen being skilled in combat. With every other way I have resisted what is expected of me, I have been very aware that my life would be a lot easier if I could feel for Thor as you do.”

Jane tried her best not to give anything away. “Are you saying you _don’t_... feel for Thor as I do?”

Sif laughed. She actually _laughed_. Jane was floored. “I don’t think I could feel for any man as you feel for Thor.”

“I... Oh.”

“Do not mistake me, I do love him. If I had to be married to a man, Thor would undoubtedly be my choice. But your arrival has changed a great many things. I had not felt able, before I saw you with Thor, to imagine anything else for myself. But now I have been able to contemplate what I might want, beyond what has been expected of us.”

“So you don’t dislike me ’cause Thor picked me?”

Sif shook her head. “No. I see why he chose you. You suit each other well. My distance from you was motivated not by dislike, but by a need for introspection – not something I excel at, I’ll admit. I tend to prefer actions to thought – another reason Thor and I would not be well suited to one another, even if my interests were in men. He gravitates towards intellect. I am sorry for giving you the impression I disliked you.”

“Oh, well... thanks for letting me know, Sif.” She paused. “And look, I don’t know if this is overstepping or if I’m totally wrong here and I’m so sorry if so, but I just wanted to say that you are totally my friend Darcy’s type, if you’re looking.”

Sif grinned. “I was wanting to see more of Midgard.”

The break in the tension had Jane release a soft laugh. The two women smiled at each other.

“I was also to tell you,” Sif said, her composure settling back in place, “that in honour of the Allfather’s resumption of his throne, there is to be a celebration. Some garments are going to be sent up to you for you to inspect.”

Sif turned to go, but Jane lunged after her. “Wait! This – _celebration_ – I need more information.”

“You have parties on Midgard, don’t you? Feasts? Balls?”

The look on Jane’s face must have spoken volumes, because Sif gave her a sympathetic look and said, “Good luck, Jane Foster,” clapping her shoulder so hard it made her stagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as my beta's sent me edits and I'm done with them!  
> I said this on tumblr, just saying here too: I have a few niggles with this fic, and I guess I just… wanted to address that I have them? This is the first multi-chapter I’ve written, and I’m aware I still have a way to go (and trying not to beat myself up about that and remind myself I don’t have to be a natural talent and it’s okay to keep learning!). I do still love this fic and it means a great deal to me even though there are things I’m now frustrated by (I did start writing it well over a year ago, so maybe that’s not surprising!), and I hope you’re enjoying it! I’ve taken on board what’s been bothering me, so hopefully future writings will keep improving!  
> I also love asks and messages and always love chatting about this fic (despite what I’ve said, it is my baby and it’s very special to me!), so feel free to send me any questions or discussion points or anything! You can find me at someillplanetreigns.tumblr.com  
> And thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting so far!


	12. A Vertical Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire." (Origin unknown; attributed widely and in various forms.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for the comments, they keep me going! And thanks to pulverisedrock for beta-ing!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: homophobia, sex references, blackmail, violence

 

> Loki is very handsome. He is plausible, convincing, likeable, and far and away the most wily, subtle and shrewd of all the inhabitants of Asgard. It is a pity, then, that there is so much darkness inside him: so much anger, so much envy, so much lust.
> 
> _Norse Mythology,_ Neil Gaiman

Thor was not in the mood for a party. After the pleasant diversion of taking Jane to the Bifrost, he had doubled back to speak to Heimdall. It had been confirmed the guards had really been Skrull, and they must have been guided into Asgard. There had been some powerful cloaking magic, but it had certainly had an Asgardian origin. Someone had taken a leaf out of Loki’s book, apparently.

The Allfather remained secretive; Heimdall implied he was gathering dark magic, which meant there was a very serious threat on the horizon. But he was keeping a calm façade. Too calm, really. _A party? Now?_

There were mixed feelings about the celebration. Volstagg was always excited for any occasion with food, of course, and Fandral was practically itching to flit between partners at the dance. Sif seemed... oddly calm, actually, although an impending battle always seemed to sit well with her, and it did look like battle couldn’t be far off. As for Hogun, it was always hard to tell – maybe he thought the festivities were frivolous, but then he was also known as a phenomenal dancer. Jane, however, was obviously flustered. And there was clearly some tension between Loki and Sigyn.

The one brief conversation Thor had had with Sigyn had been interesting. She’d wanted to know more about Loki, of how Thor saw him, what their relationship was like. It wasn’t unusual for women to become fascinated with Loki, of course, but this seemed different. He’d tried to take over her planet, so Thor supposed it had to be different. A part of Loki’s appeal was often a slight fear of him, a sense that he was bad, even taboo. Sigyn didn’t seem frightened of Loki, more _frustrated_ by him. Thor could relate to that.

She certainly seemed frustrated now, even angry at him. Their arms were linked, concealing Loki’s imprisoned status, but she stood stiffly and stared straight ahead, not looking at him. Thor was rather amused; Sigyn was wearing a backless dress in midnight blue, and her irritated posture so fully displayed kept drawing Loki’s eye when he thought no one was looking. He’d have to find a way of letting her know she’d stumbled across a weakness of Loki’s.

*

Sigyn had not slept well. She’d been plagued by nightmares of the guards from the vault snapping, dropping dead by her hand. But then in her dreams instead of melting into a reptilian creature the nearest body morphed into her brother, sallow and waxen. She’d try to scream but no sound would emerge. Everything was bathed in an eerie blue light, and something in her chest hummed. She knew Loki stood behind her, knew he was about to do something... And then she’d wake up.

She was angry at Loki for his actions in the gardens. She knew that was stupid of her; he had done much, _much_ worse to thousands of people. But still she was annoyed, and she was somehow even more annoyed when he emerged to escort her to the celebration (though really, she reminded herself bitterly, she was escorting _him_ ; he was her prisoner) looking infuriatingly beautiful. She knew all about the danger of the most beautiful angel and every cliché like it, but it still didn’t seem fair that she was _so_ drawn to him.

He’d cut a route through the crowd when they entered the already packed and partying hall, dishing out deadly smiles every which way. It took her a moment to realise he was winding his way slowly but surely to the refreshments table.

He lifted a hefty bottle as though it weighed nothing and stashed it somewhere about his person. Two empty glasses followed it.

“Do you want some food?” It was the first thing he’d said to her since she’d marched back from the gardens, forcing him to follow her. She picked over the words but couldn’t identify his tone.

“Anything that isn’t meat.”

“Of course you don’t eat meat.”

She wanted to ask him what that was supposed to mean – someone who saw humans as so far beneath him they were ripe for conquering was unlikely to understand not wanting to eat animals – but was cut off by a bowl of apples being thrust into her stomach.

“Take those. There’s a balcony this way.”

He pulled her arm that was not crooked around the apple bowl through his and lead her off again. She wanted to be annoyed at him for dragging her around, but she had to admit as they stepped out of the crowded hall and into the night air that the balcony was beautiful. You could see to the edge of Asgard, where it gave way to an immense plain of stars.

Loki pulled the bottle and glasses from his jacket where they couldn’t possibly have fit and set them up on the balcony’s table. Sigyn sank into a chair, leaving him to sit opposite her. They were silent again as Loki poured out what looked like wine from the bottle. She hesitated as he handed it to her, but he couldn’t poison her and he’d already gotten the truth from her, so she sipped it. It tasted like a very fruity and heady wine.

“What was your brother’s name?”

The question came out of nowhere and Sigyn swallowed hard, narrowly avoiding choking. He looked impassively at her, eyes fixed on hers intently. When she didn’t answer, he repeated his question calmly. What advantage, she wondered, would knowing give him? She couldn’t fathom it.

“Morgan. His name was Morgan.”

“Ah, of course. A witch.” He sounded amused, swirling his own wine in the glass before drinking from it.

“My mum didn’t want to leave him out of her big passion.”

Loki nodded, sipping at his wine again. Sigyn imitated him. She wished she understood what was going through his mind. Without warning, Loki snatched up the wine bottle and the apple bowl again and set them on the balcony’s wall, then took a single apple and placed it in the centre of the table.

“I admit I am curious as to your abilities. Can you make that come to you?”

His behaviour apparently just kept getting stranger.

Sigyn had to admit she was curious too, though she didn’t appreciate being treated like a lab rat. She shot him a look but did then concentrate on the apple, trying to will it to come towards her. It stubbornly remained where it was. She tried again, reaching to try and find whatever it was in her that healed her and let her blast danger away. Still nothing.

She looked at Loki quite literally staring down his nose at her as she strained. He could probably do this from early childhood. But he still didn’t have to look so smug about it.

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, then slowly opened her eyes, pushing out the air and fixing her gaze firmly on the apple, inhaling again as though to draw it towards her with the air. The apple teetered, and then obediently rolled down the table and plopped into her lap. Sigyn grinned.

Loki looked under the table to see her foot suspending his end of the table, tilting it towards her.

“You never specified how to make it come to me.” She took a smug bite out of her prize.

Did he practise being inscrutable in the mirror? What was _that_ look supposed to mean?

“Is this one of Idunn’s apples?” she asked him, looking to keep the conversation moving, to try to decipher what was going on.

“Probably. She has a monopoly on orchard fruits. Though it won’t prolong your life in the way your tales claim – not that that is a concern for you, of course.”

She froze. “I didn’t tell you about that.”

“The Norns wrote me a charming letter before they left confirming what you had told me and filling in the gaps in my knowledge.”

Oh. She rallied, “Well, probably for the best those myths are made up anyway. Because they say you had sex with a horse.”

“Svaðilfari wasn’t a _horse_ ; he was a cavalry officer.”

Sigyn narrowly avoided choking on her apple. “That’s...” she began when she'd recovered, “I suppose that makes sense? And the whole horse transformation thing?”

His voice was just a little tight. “He was the stallion and I was the mare.”

 _Oh._ “Was that... some sort of in-joke? Because otherwise that seems like a horrible equation of queerness and bestiality from the myth... I mean, I knew the Vikings had their whole _ergi_ thing, but...”

It hit her suddenly that Loki had expected her to be horrified by his revelation; he’d even been _intending_ to disgust her. He hadn’t been prepared for an attempt to engage with what he’d said. The revelation brought her up short.

“Svaðilfari was a youthful mistake,” he said at length. “He attempted to blackmail me. He proposed to let all of Asgard know I had played the mare for him if I did not secure him a promotion. So, suffice it to say we did not _joke_.”

“I’m sorry.” And then, because she couldn’t stop herself, “What did you do?”

Loki rose and slunk pantherlike to the stone barrier, turning so he leant back against it, facing her. “I told him to tell whomever he wished, and then I had him given the task of breaking in Sleipnir. Which, as I had intended, resulted instead with Sleipnir breaking _him_. He is a terribly loyal creature.”

The only response she could find to give after some pause was: “So Sleipnir is real, then?”

“Oh yes. But he is neither Svaðilfari’s son nor mine. Through a highly improbable series of events, there was a magical explosion at a horse market which resulted in one unfortunate pregnant animal being exposed to some rather potent charms, which gave birth to a foal some months later with twice the usual number of legs. She rejected him. It was only I who saw his potential. He was my foal before he was Odin’s steed.”

“Did you have anything to do with this highly improbable series of events?”

“A great number of highly improbable things do seem to involve me.”

Sigyn found herself rising and moving to the barrier, taking her wine with her. She leant against it too, beside him but giving a bit of space between them. Loki leant across to top up her glass in strangely comfortable silence.

He’d just told her he’d gotten a horse to enact violent revenge for him. Everything had stopped making sense. But if Sigyn were honest, everything had stopped making sense long before this, long before she’d known of Asgard and of what she was. It wasn’t the absence of order she disliked, not really; it was the insistence on pretending there was order when there wasn’t.

She could see back into the hall from here. She grinned when she spotted Thor and Jane dancing clumsily together. They’d both seemed so stressed, she was glad they were getting to have fun.

Loki followed her gaze. “They’re quite the entertainment. She, of course, has some excuse, not knowing any of our dances, but Thor is simply incorrigible, always has been, and dances like a bilgesnipe on its hind legs.”

“I suppose you’re an excellent dancer,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Naturally.”

“And yet you’re out here.”

“If you wish for me to dance with you, you simply have to ask.”

“You’d regret it, trust me.”

Looking for a distraction, someone else in the crowd caught her eye. She nodded towards a blonde wearing an extremely decadent green gown with her eyes fixed directly on the balcony’s occupants. “ _She_ definitely wants to dance with you. She’s even wearing your colours.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth quirked and he leant closer to Sigyn to speak low, even though there was no way anyone else could possibly hear. “But I’m certain it is _you_ she is looking at. Are you quite sure I am the object of interest?”

She swallowed. “Maybe we both are.”

He huffed a laugh then leant even closer, his breath rustling her hair and his voice deadly. “She isn’t without appeal, but anyone else dancing with us would only be in the way.”

She didn’t miss the subtext. She doubted he’d missed her little shiver.

As he turned to face her, giving her more space but seeming even closer, something struck her. Her voice was rather squeakier than she would have liked when she blurted out: “Your eyes are green. I thought they were blue.”

“Your seduction skills are rather lacking, aren’t they?” he murmured, shaking his head.

She stared at him. Was this a game or...? It was all very hard to tell with him. Without really thinking, she retorted, “Well I’ve already got you in the handcuffs.”

He exhaled in a rush, a sort of stifled laugh. He cocked his head, looking at her intently. She wished she knew what he was thinking. 

Why was he so close? Why was he so far away? Was she a little drunk already?

Without warning his gaze snapped away from hers and he took hold of her arm again and lead her back into the hall, taking her glass from her and putting it down without even looking. She stumbled after him, tripping gracelessly through the crowd as he dragged her to a space and abruptly stopped and started arranging her limbs.

“What are you doing?”

“The next song is about to start. Stop standing like that, what are you, a scarecrow?”

“Like you’ve ever seen a scarecrow,” she muttered.

“I have travelled,” he said with great dignity.

They now stood side on to each other, right hands clasped together at the height of Loki’s shoulder.

“This one is very simple,” he announced. “I’ll tell you when to change, meaning you swap hands and the direction we’re turning in. Understand?”

“But why —”

She was interrupted by the band striking up the song. As Loki started moving she instinctively did the same, stepping round in a circle so they remained at an equal distance from each other, hands still clasped.

“Change!” he ordered, and she quickly swapped hands and went in the opposite direction, fumbling slightly, causing Loki to sigh. After another change, though, she had worked out the cue in the music and could do it without being instructed. The pace of the music kept increasing, and their circle seemed a little tighter, they seemed a little closer to one another, but the steps were simple.

“Have you decided you like me more now you know I’m not human?” she asked suddenly, because it was bothering her and because all this twirling in silence was starting to grate; they always talked while they were dancing in Jane Austen novels, after all, and she didn’t have much else to go on.

“No,” he replied, surprisingly frankly. “But it does make you rather more dangerous.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But then the song ended with a final flourish. Loki stopped and Sigyn kept going, colliding with him. He caught her about the shoulders, tutting at her inelegance.

She wanted to repeat her question, but Thor’s friends chose that moment to close in. Apparently they had been bottling up a lot of questions.

“We didn’t know people on Midgard could do magic. Are you unusual?”

“Are you really chained to him? Can you drag him around?”

“Is he giving you trouble? Don’t trust him. He’s slippery as an eel. Once won a game of hide and seek by turning himself into an eel and hiding in the lake, actually. See my point?”

“That was nine hundred years ago!”  

Sigyn snickered, which was probably not the smartest move. Loki glowered at her. Whatever that had been earlier, it seemed it was over.

As they moved to join Thor and Jane, Sigyn saw the blonde woman in the green dress slip out of the hall.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just to say I did make a few very minor edits to this after posting - a bit of speech was bothering me but I think I've fixed it now!)


End file.
